


Truth Behind Locked Doors

by she_wolf_celyn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Merlin, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Magic Restriction, Magic Revealed, Mind Manipulation, Protective Arthur, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_wolf_celyn/pseuds/she_wolf_celyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate ending to series 5.</p><p>To Arthur, Merlin is more than a servant - He's his friend, his best friend, and in truth, his most trusted advisor. But when Merlin is kidnapped, Arthur is forced to put him aside in favour of defending Camelot against the fast approaching army, not realising that he's just lost his best defence.<br/>The revelations flow fast and Merlin must strike a terrible deal to protect his king, whilst the druids fight to protect the future of Albion.</p><p>Camelot lies on a knife edge, and an ancient force has returned to tip the balance. The question is, which way?</p><p>*Basically abandoned. Read it if you like and mourn my inability to commit. Mebs I'll finish it sometime. pls don't hold your breath.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: The Army

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternate ending to the end of series 5, and basically replaces part 1 and 2 of Diamond of the Day
> 
> This work is kind of a work in progress, but the first 15 chapters have already been written, so there shouldn't be any update problems for a while yet. It is already largely posted on fanfiction.net, but I'm going to stagger the updates here to give me some more time to come up with the next chapters. The first two are really short, so I'm going to be posting them both today.
> 
> Comments would be greatly appreciated, this is my first ever fic.

Chapter 1: The Army

“Arthur”

The dusky sunlight filtered through the branches of the gently swaying trees, and danced across the faces of two young men, sitting on horseback and travelling along a well-worn forest path.

The first young man was fair-headed and well-muscled, his shoulders covered with a lustrous red cloak, and beneath that chainmail and armour. The second, who had spoken, was quite different. His hair was a shock of blackbird-ebony, his figure tall and gangly, and his clothes – a brown jacket over a red shirt, with a bright blue neckerchief about his throat – were scruffy to say the least. Yet they shared two things in common; first, their piercing blue eyes, (one pair clear as the sky, the other wild as the sea) and second, the air of nobility that clung to them; as they passed, all seemed to become quiet around them.

The fair man was a king, the blackbird-boy his servant, but in the peace and tranquillity of the forest, the boy Merlin’s chin was raised high, his back was straight and his shoulders pushed back, whilst his eyes, wild as they were, held a wisdom in them that was hard to ignore. Though King Arthur didn’t know it, it was the last of the Dragon Lords who rode by his side.

“Arthur, please listen to me” Merlin’s voice sounded deeper than normal as he spoke, the voice he adopted when he was being serious. “You know as well as I do you won’t find him.”

Arthur remained silent, though a look of annoyance flashed across his tense features.

“You know he’ll be with Morgana by no–”

“No, _Mer_ lin, I _don’t_ know that, and neither do you, so… _shut up_.” Arthur snapped back.

Merlin shook his head slightly and stuck his lower jaw forward slightly, making a small smacking sound with his lips – a clear sign he was exasperated.

“Besides,” continued Merlin, resuming his attack as if he hadn’t heard Arthur’s last sentiment “even if we do find him, there’s no guarantee that he’ll listen to you. I mean, you didn’t exactly part on good terms last time you met.”

“You don’t know that either. Maybe he’s just…scared.” Arthur finished lamely.

For his part, Merlin snorted. “Arthur, he blew the door off his cell and ran away after you executed the woman he loved. I doubt he’ll be running for a hug if we find him. More likely he’ll try and stick a sword in you.” The words had slipped unbidden from Merlin’s tongue, and he grimaced as images flashed before him.

_Red sky. A field of the dead._

Arthur sighed. “You’re probably right”

_Arthur turning. Mordred swinging._

“Merlin?”

_Arthur falling, eyes wide and staring. Mordred, eyes hard and filled with hate._

“MERLIN!”

With a jolt, Merlin’s head snapped towards his master’s worried face. _No,_ whispered a voice in his head, _not your master_. _Your friend_.

Merlin plastered a wide, mischievous grin on his face, to placate the king’s fears before facing forward once more and resuming his thoughts. Whatever his face had been doing it must have been bad for Arthur to have such worry lines creasing his brow.

As the next few minutes passed, Arthur watched his servant curiously. Regardless of his words, Arthur could see that Mordred’s disappearance had greatly affected Arthur’s oldest friend. He seemed more…resigned since that day. And if Arthur hadn’t known him better, he would almost have thought Merlin looked scared. Despite all that he said to the contrary, Merlin was without doubt the bravest man he knew.

Suddenly Arthur stopped. Displaying his sixth sense for everything that went on with Arthur, Merlin stopped too, and raised a questioning eyebrow. With a terse nod, they both dismounted, Arthur drawing his sword from its sheath, and Merlin peering into the growing twilight darkness. Wordlessly, they crept forward.

In a moment the trees ahead of them cleared, and Merlin pulled Arthur back just in time to stop him tumbling over the edge of a steep cliff –

– and into an endless plain of soldiers and tents, bristling with weaponry, bustling with activity and filled to bursting with…

“Saxons” Arthur breathed “They’re coming for Camelot”

For a moment the two of them stood there in shocked silence. It was Merlin who spoke first; “Arthur we have to get back.”


	2. Chapter 2: The Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is faced with a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, second chapter. This one is much more interesting!

Chapter 2: The Ambush

Merlin put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and pulled to get him moving. With a shake of his head, as if being pulled from some reverie, Arthur turned to look at his loyal manservant. Merlin could see in that second that Arthur was already thinking up a battle plan.

Crouching low so as not to be seen, they made their way silently back to the horses, tensed for an attack, and it was with some relief that they reached the clearing where the animals had been tethered, and saw them standing there; if the horses had been found, then their riders would have been done for.

It was at that moment that the clearing erupted.

Saxons jumped down from the trees and ran out from behind boulders, as if on some signal, and rushed for the stationary, and frankly stunned, pair. _How could I not sense something like this?_ Merlin thought with horror.

Arthur snapped out of it first. “Get to the horses!” The clearing was a large one and there were still a few seconds until any one of the men would reach them or the horses – precious seconds, not to be wasted.

With practiced skill they both swung themselves up into the saddles and dug their heels into the sides of their mounts – none of the Saxons had horses, so if they could just start running then no one would be able to keep up.

But it was too late.

As they powered across the clearing, making for the break in the trees, one of the soldiers, a young one, threw himself forward, in the desperate hope of catching on to something, and caught Merlin’s foot in his fingers.

As the young man’s full weight fell to the floor, Merlin could feel his other foot being ripped from the stirrup as his whole body was pulled sideways from his steed. He crashed to the floor, and for a second he was blinded as his eyes lost their focus.

“MERLIN!” Arthur’s voice echoed across the clearing.

Merlin felt his innards sink down a few inches. Arthur was going to try and help him. Which meant he couldn’t use magic. Which meant they would both be caught.

A hand roughly grabbed his shoulder and flipped him so he was lying on his back. More hands grabbed his arms and legs and pinned them to the ground as he bucked and twisted in his futile attempt to get free. He managed to dislodge one of his hands and thwacked one of his attackers in the face, until another man’s foot came down and held down his arm at the wrist. An involuntary cry escaped from his lips as the sharp heel dug into his skin.

Whilst all this was happening, another soldier had plonked himself down on Merlin, straddling his chest to try and stop him moving too much, and Merlin found himself looking up in horror at the man. The light, though dim, was enough to render this man faceless, a mere silhouette against the ever-so-slightly lighter sky, but it was the silhouette of the club in his hand that Merlin was looking at, the club that was just starting to move towards his head in a sweeping arc that held his attention. In that eternally long half second, Merlin knew one thing.

He’d only have time for one more spell, one last bit of magic. And as far as he could see he had two options.

First – do something, _anything_ , to get Arthur away, regardless of what happened to himself or –

Or reveal himself to Arthur. He knew he wouldn’t be able to say an incantation, not with the way his head was pounding and the sight of that club swinging and the thought of the crack it would make against his skull, but he could still shout. Shout the way he once saw Mordred shout, so that anyone near him would be thrown away. Arthur would see, but he wouldn’t leave him there, would he? True, they would have some talking to do, but that could come later, once they’d fought their way out of this mess, side by side, as they always were. Of course Arthur would forgive him!

…wouldn’t he?

Merlin made his choice. The right one, he was sure of it. _After all,_ he thought _it is our destiny._

As the club reached halfway point, he let the magic flood through him, and gathered air into his lungs.

And so it was with a strangely light heart that opened his mouth very wide and felt his eyes turn, quite suddenly, to molten gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll publish the next chapter soon! Please make a comment! What do you think he'll choose?


	3. Chapter 3: The Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, next chapter! I promise, these'll start getting longer soon
> 
> Thank you to the three people who left Kudos, and the one person who commented! Ooh, and the people who subscribed! hopefully there will be a few more of you soon!

Chapter 3: The Loss

“MERLIN!”

Arthur had been glancing over his shoulder when he saw Merlin being pulled from his horse, and the desperate shout had been pulled from his lips as he tried to stop his horse mid-gallop. But it was harder than it looked – Bethilde was a little jumpy at the best of times, but events of the past few seconds were a little too much for her, and she was very unwilling to stop.

As he struggled with his horse, the fair-haired king cast another worried glance behind him, and his brow furrowed in surprise, his lip curling slightly. Three of the large, bulky Saxons were marching towards him, swords drawn and deadly intent clouding their gaze. A little way away, another two were trying to restrain Merlin’s horse, which was on the rampage; _Well at least I merit one more than a horse_ he thought, before realising that with his own horse included, he was actually only worth one.

But around _Mer_ lin there were _six_! _Six!_ One was sitting of to the side, nursing a bleeding nose where Merlin had hit him. Three more were gripping his arms and legs, whilst a fourth was actually _standing_ on his hand. The final one was sitting on him with a–

_Oh no._

Merlin had stopped struggling and was staring as the club, grasped firmly in the thick, sausage-like fingers of the Saxon, reached its peak, and began the inexorable descent downwards towards Merlin’s head.

The next half second changed everything.

“WHOA!” Arthur shouted, eyes wide and gaping as Bethilde whinnied shrilly and reared up high, front legs kicking. Bracing his legs against her sides, he had tensed his shoulders, ready for the impact as she hit the ground again when Merlin’s voice reached him from where he was pinned.

“ARTHUR! WARN CAMELO–”

_CRACK!_

Arthur’s stomach warped at the sound, but he was too busy – or too scared – to look over at his friend. Bethilde had landed running and was powering across the remaining gap between them and the trees with her mouth foaming and her eyes rolling. He desperately pulled at her reigns with all his might, which was quite considerable, but to no avail; something had driven her witless, and Arthur had never seen her this scared.

In a moment of panic, Arthur briefly considered throwing himself off the horse, but he dismissed the thought immediately; at this speed, he had no idea of the injuries he would receive, he could end up making things worse instead of better.

Arthur wasn’t quite sure what made him do it. It wasn’t like there was a point to it, or a reason why it would work, but when it came down to it, he couldn’t help himself.

_I’m sorry, Merlin. You wouldn’t have left me there, but I left you. I promise I’ll come back for you. I promise._ And he scattered his words behind him as he rode, threw them into the air and pushed them at any one who would listen. He pushed with all the energy he had left and more, which is why he wasn’t surprised when he felt something pushing back, fainter than the breeze but there all the same.

_It’s alright, Arthur. Leave me, please. Just…be the king that Camelot deserves._


	4. Captured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin wakes to new surroundings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, Chapter 4! This is the last of the short chapters, so from now on the story gets more complex and interesting. This chapter is really my first attempt at whump, so please don't judge me!
> 
> And thank you to everyone who left kudos! Please, please, PLEASE comment!

Chapter 4: Captured

To Merlin, the sensation of waking up was something akin to dragging himself out of a fast-flowing river of Gaius’ porridge. He wasn’t quite sure which way was up or down, though from the stiffness of his neck, and the demanding fight that gravity put up when he tried to move his head, he could just about assume that he was upright, in a seated position probably, leaning against a wall, or a tree, or a… (he considered the fact that he could feel nothing against his shoulder blades) …post?

_This would probably be a bit easier if I could actually open my eyes,_ he thought irritably _or even **feel** the rest of my body_. Merlin’s eyelids were outright refusing to respond to any of his commands, and he wasn’t sure the rest of him was even _there_ , let alone functional.

Taking the route he usually took when he found out his body was useless to him (which was often), Merlin turned towards his mind, and tried to piece together the events that had led him to this situation. The memories flooded back; him riding with Arthur, finding the army, being ambushed in the clearing, being pulled of the horse, pinned down, the club, and _Oh god_ –

“–ARTHUR!”

Merlin lurched forward desperately, his eyes flashing open, as the sensation flooded through his limbs once more, revealing every ache and pain he was feeling right there – the bruising down his left side from his unwelcome connection with the ground, the pounding of his head, the screaming of his shoulder blades and the cord that was cutting into his flesh at his wrist and ankles; his feet were bound before him, and his hands, tied behind him, were fixing him securely to – he’d been right – a wooden post, positioned in the centre of an otherwise bare white tent.

That wasn’t all. Opening his jaw experimentally, Merlin could feel a warm, sticky substance down the left side of his head and neck, clotting against his skin – blood. His neck, too, it seemed, was not only suffering the effects of gravity, but also of a heavy shackle, a collar, that was clasped about his throat.

Merlin panicked internally. He wasn’t quite sure why, but something about the collar filled him with fear. Fraught, he reached for his magic. He knew he could blast that collar off, break his bonds and escape this place – he was Emrys, the greatest warlock the world had ever known. These Saxons weren’t going to know what hit them. All he needed was to–

“Oh, I don’t think so” came a familiar voice.

For the second time that day (if it had only been a day – he had no idea how long he’d been out for) a Pendragon’s voice caused his stomach to drop through his feet, and he franticly tried to look over his shoulder , an impossible feat in his awkward position.

“Now, now, Merlin, don’t struggle! This will only take a moment…” Merlin could feel her hot breath against his neck as she leaned down behind him, her voice sickly-sweet, and struggled harder. “…and it really won’t hurt _that_ much, so long as you don’t fight it _too_ strongly.” Her last words dripped with false pity, the mocking tone barely disguised.

Without warning he felt his neckerchief being roughly shoved in his mouth, another rag passed over his face and fastened behind his head to keep the gag in place. His wrists were starting to bleed from his manic endeavours to get free. A muffled gasp escaped him at the feel of her cold hands under his jaw as she pressed her palms against the metal of the collar. He tried to thrash his neck to get her off, but she was strong, and his head still hurt, and the cuff was heavy–

“ _Ábædan._ ”

None but Morgana heard his muffled cries.


	5. Dismounting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur returns to Camelot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the chapters start to get longer and where the rest of the story really starts to kick in. I also tried to return to the more descriptive style I used in chapter 1 :) I hope you like it!
> 
> As ever, thank you to everyone who's read it, but even bigger thanks to the people who have shown that they at least LIKE it, whether it's through subscription, bookmarks, kudos, or (my personal favourite) reviews! And feel free to show that appreciation now!

Chapter 5: Dismounting

It was early morning, very early in fact, and the sun had only just risen over the glistening spires of Camelot. It had rained that night, not much, since rain hardly ever graced Camelot’s walls, just enough to cast a golden sheen over everything, as the bright rays of a young day hit the cobblestones and roof tiles of the great city. It was far from quiet – there were cockerels crowing and animals lowing. Voices called as early risers walked the streets to their respective jobs. Somewhere in the background, the dawn chorus was trilling its sweetest notes. Yet the noise was tranquil, in the way that good noises always are. Everything was at peace, in more ways than one, and everyone who looked out at the citadel that morning could see that it was more than just the day dawning…

Camelot, Albion, was reaching its golden age.

Or at least, it had been, until a shrill, high pitched whinny, followed by the harsh clattering of hooves against cobbled roads, shattered the silence of the soft and gentle din.

A horse was galloping through the centre of the lower town – a mare, dark brown. Its eyes were wide, and red, and rolling madly, its mane a mess, flattened to its head and neck with sweat. Its flanks, muscles bulging and swollen from over exertion, were flecked with foam and guttural snorts and whinnies were being elicited from its throat every other stride it took. To all who saw it, it would have seemed to be a wild horse, were it not for the barely conscious, red-cloaked, fair-headed figure that was slumped across its neck.

Silence fell, as the city stared.

**\---0---**

Even after four years of being Queen, Guinevere Pendragon was still an early riser.

She sat by the window in the room that she and Arthur shared, taking advantage of the first rays of sunlight as they trickled through the window panes, casting a red and gold light over the papers she was reading. They were reports regarding the tax on cloth entering the city. Knowing her expertise on the prices of cloth, Arthur had left them for her to look over whilst he and Merlin left on a hunt for Mordred loosely disguised as a hunting trip almost three days ago. Had it been an ordinary hunting trip, she and the knights might have started to get worried by now – Arthur never let himself take his enjoyment too far from his Kingly duties. But in regards to looking for Mordred, Gwen knew that he considered searching for him to _be_ his Kingly duty, and would probably be back within the next day or so, empty-handed, Merlin trudging exhaustedly behind him.

Much as it pained her to admit it, she knew Mordred was lost to them. She knew how the loss of a loved one could twist an impressionable heart.

Gwen’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sounds of a commotion in the courtyard. Curious as to what could be happening at such an early hour, she peered down, pressing her forehead against the cool glass in order to see better.

A horse had just run into the courtyard, and was screeching and rearing madly, kicking out at everyone who got near. She was sure she could spy Leon’s brunette locks down there, and that looked to be Lancelot, returning from one of his morning training sessions. But who was that on the horse? He wore the red of a Camelot knight, but it was difficult to tell who he was, especially from this distance, because he seemed to be barely able to hold himself up. Though if she peered really hard at him, she thought his hair looked like it was–

Gwen left the room running.

**\---0---**

Running down those steps into the courtyard, Gwen cursed the inventor of petticoats. Hadn’t they _ever_ considered how difficult it was to go down stairs quickly in them?

Leon turned and smiled with relief at the sight of their Queen arriving on the scene. Though she couldn’t do much more than those who were there already, Leon had come to trust her judgement completely, and she was always good in a crisis.

Arthur was in trouble. Though he didn’t appear to have any physical injuries, he looked completely exhausted. From his place on her back, he was doing his best to stop the horse from hurting anyone, but that was difficult when he was using up most of his energy in staying on in the first place.

Elyan and Percival had now arrived too, as well as a few more knights. Everyone present was now standing around Arthur and the horse with their arms raised (excepting Gwen, who’s dress was too low cut to raise her arms – she cheered on from the sidelines) attempting to catch hold of the reigns.

“Wait, stop!” called a small voice from the direction of the stables.

A young boy sprinted towards them, lugging a bucket of water. He was a little on the plump side, with a haircut like a pudding bowl, and though he was still very small, and his face had no traces of hair on it yet, everyone could tell that Celyn Seward was going to look a lot like his older brother, Tyr.

Gwen visibly flinched at the sight of him. When she had been freed from Morgana’s control and been told all that she had done in the intervening time, Gwen had insisted on Tyr’s family being informed of the part she had to play in his death, and had gone to their house personally to do everything she could for them. They understood that she had not been in control of herself when she killed him, but that didn’t stop Celyn from casting her a wary glance as he entered the circle of people, the horse still bucking, and Arthur hardly aware of his surroundings, in the centre.

“Everybody step back! You’re scaring her more.” He commanded in his squeak of a voice. The knights, shamefaced, immediately complied.

Satisfied that they were far enough back, Celyn turned back towards the horse, who turned her vengeful gaze upon the boy and snorted angrily, walking backwards and forwards and shaking her head. Arthur looked up from where he was resting his head on Bethilde’s neck and widened his eyes at the sight of such a young boy approaching the horse, but was by this time too drained to so much as protest.

Celyn crouched a little, and made his way, step by step, towards the insane mare, the water held behind him. The only sounds were the horse’s snorts and the _clop, clopclop_ of her hooves against the stone.

“Hey, Betty, Betty, calm down, girl,” he crooned softly “It’s only me. It’s only Celyn.”

Bethilde ceased her trotting and stared steadily at the boy. Excited, Leon stepped forward, but froze as she whinnied and tossed her head in his direction.

Celyn raised his hand so it was on a level with her nose. She swivelled her head in his direction but did nothing. Shaking from the weight of the bucket, he extended the water towards her. When she stayed where she was, Celyn tipped his head to the side, staring at her with a frown on his face as he studied her posture.

“Bethilde,” Celyn said, more solemn and earnest than anyone there had ever heard him before “I swear I will _never_ let anyone hurt Arthur.”

And to the intense surprise of everyone present, Bethilde _relaxed_. Her head lifted once more, and her shoulders slumped from their raised, tense position. Stepping forward, she uttered a single huff, before dunking her head in the water.

“Daft girl.” He muttered, patting her head, before saying in a slightly louder voice “I think someone should get the King down now”

There was no doubt about it; Celyn was as gifted with horses as his brother had been.

Arthur awoke as he felt people tugging on him to get him down, and did his best to help them, unbending his legs so he could swing them over the saddle. But as his feet landed, he found that his knees were no longer capable of supporting his weight, and would have collapsed to the ground had Leon not ducked under his arm before he fell.

Twisting, Arthur suddenly placed his hand against the horse’s mane. “Thank you, Bethilde,” he said “for protecting me. I’d be dead without you.”

Pausing from her drinking, Bethilde turned her head to face the rider she had carried all through the night, carried because the young-magic-boy had said that her master was in danger, and blew a gentle breath into his face. Arthur gave a final, weak, chuckle, before slipping at long last, into unconsciousness.

“What the HECK happened?” They all turned towards the doors where Gwaine, still in his nightshirt and with his hair a mess, was standing. “I was FINALLY having the cheese dream again, when I get woken up by a ruddy HORSE!”

“Something happened.” Leon said grimly “Arthur’s come back, but–”

Lancelot’s voice, as he spoke, was full of barely contained fear “–But _Merlin_ isn’t with him!”

**\---0---**

In those few minutes, the city’s beauty faded into insignificance. This time, the silence that fell was harsh and cold; no animals lowed, no people called. Even the dawn chorus, before in full swing, had depleted to one last voice.

All that was left of the beauty of this kingdom, of the hope it had for the future, was a single blackbird, all alone, singing a beautiful, mournful, song.


	6. Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's suspicions are awoken when he overhears a rather curious conversation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, then must have been bothered enough to click on it, so thank you for that!
> 
> No Merlin in this one, but a rather nice bit between Arthur and Gaius that I am relatively proud of.
> 
> Please comment! I know it's hard to summon the energy, and god knows I'm being really hypocritical, but it would really mean a lot to me to hear what you think of the story :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 6: Remembering

It was the sound of hushed voices that recalled Arthur to the wakefulness. As he blearily opened his sleep-filled eyes he became vaguely aware that he was lying on a bed – his bed, no doubt – and that there were people standing at the foot of it, though he could not yet discern anything other than colours and shapes.

Judging from the fact that they were still talking and facing away from him, he presumed they hadn’t realised he was awake yet, and closed his eyes gratefully. He was aching, all over, like he’d just run some kind of race. _Five more minutes,_ he thought drowsily, _five more minutes and I’ll get up_.

Before he could let himself drift off into carefree dreams, however, the sound of his bedroom door opening drew his attention. And though he continued to keep his eyes closed, he listened carefully as the gruff tones of his court physician reverberated around his chambers.

“I’m sorry, my lords, but the sweating sickness in Brinell called me away for longer than I had anticipated. The guards tell me something has happened to Arthur?”

Arthur’s hair nearly moved from the sighs of relief that had been exhaled from the mouths of everyone in the room at the sight of Gaius. Everyone, that is, except one;

“Gaius!” Lancelot’s usually calm and collected tones were now tinged with worry, and something of desperation. His next words, to the knights, were spoken in a slightly more hushed voice, and Arthur had to strain to hear them. “Please, let me inform him. Merlin still has not yet returned, and you know how close he and Gaius are.”

_Merlin_. How could he have forgotten? All of Arthur’s dread from earlier came rushing back, and hardened into a small ball somewhere between his chest and his stomach.

Moments later he heard Lancelot and Gaius moving over to the bed where he lay. Gaius placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, about to begin the examination.

“Merlin is missing” Lancelot said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gaius’ hand froze where it was on Arthur’s shoulder, and he thought he could detect an almost imperceptible shake in it.

Yet the court physician managed to keep his speech completely even. “You don’t think…?”

“It must be. Mordred is with her now, she’ll know about Merlin!”

Where they talking about Morgana? What would she want with Merlin? And what was it he’d been trying to hide from her? Arthur searched his brain for anything about Merlin that Morgana would find useful, anything that Morgana didn’t know about him, but could think of nothing.

“Has Arthur said anything yet?”

“Nothing. His horse brought him back; he said she’d saved his life. It looked like he’d been riding her all night, but other than that he was unscathed.”

Arthur _desperately_ wanted to see their faces. Deciding it was worth the risk, he opened one of his eyes a crack.

“ _Arthur!_ ” Gwen rushed over and knelt beside the bed, her eyes frantic as she looked him over. “You’re awake!”

Arthur couldn’t help but smile at the concern in her features, completely incapable of being angry at her for ruining his plan. “I’m fine, Gwen”

He sneaked a glance at Gaius and Lancelot, who were standing behind Gwen, and were exchanging a loaded look at one another before considering him carefully. He knew they were wondering what he had heard of their conversation.

With Gwen’s help, Arthur sat up and leaned against the headboard

“Arthur…” Leon was gazing at him steadily, trying to work out the answer to his question before he asked it “…What happened?”

“And where. Is. Merlin.” growled Gwaine, arms folded and knuckles white as he clenched his fist      

Careful not to look in the direction of his court physician or his most noble knight, Arthur passed a weary hand over his face, and answered in almost expressionless tones “The Saxons took him”

“The Saxons!” Elyan’s eyes widened.

Arthur nodded. “There’s an army of them.  With that many, I’d say they were no more than three days march from Camelot”

“The Saxons are working with Morgana…aren’t they?” said Lancelot cautiously.

Arthur turned and stared intently at Lancelot. “Yes, they are.”

But Lancelot wasn’t looking at Arthur; he was throwing a significant glance at Gaius, who was starting to sway slightly worryingly.

“We have to rescue him!” Gwaine’s voice brooked no argument.

“I agree!” piped up Lancelot “He wouldn’t leave us there.”

Secretly, Arthur was ready jump up right now and look for him himself but he knew it wasn’t that simple. There was an army amassing on Camelot’s borders, they couldn’t afford to go searching for one man.

The truth remained unspoken, but it hung in the air, visible to every one of them. Even Gwaine couldn’t ignore its presence. They were all fond of Merlin, he had been beside them through all the troubles they had faced, but it didn’t change the fact that they could not afford to search for him, not when Camelot was in such a precarious position.

“Perhaps…” They all turned to Percival, who had until then remained quiet. Surprised at the attention, he glanced at them all before continuing. “I just thought that…you know…maybe it would be quite useful if we could get a look at the size of this army, and the weapons they had.”

Arthur started to smile.

“And if we happen to find Merlin along the way,” Percival was now looking at each and every one of them now, eyebrows raised in an expression of innocence “well, then that’s even better.”

“Percival, my friend” Gwaine said, clapping the big man on the arm “I reckon you’ve got a point there.”

“Yes, he does.” Leon added, an amused twinkle in his eyes. “We’ll need to know how large their army is. You probably didn’t get a good enough look, did you Arthur?”

Arthur kept his face and voice impassive and emotionless. “Nope. There could be any number of them.”

Lancelot stepped forward, hand already fiddling with the hilt of hilt of his sword at his hip, his air fierce and determined. “I’m in.”

Elyan raised his hands in the air. “Who am I to argue with the strongest man in the room?”

_Don’t worry, Merlin._ Arthur thought _I’ll keep my promise._

**\---0---**

The next hour consisted of an impatient Arthur directing his army from his bed as Gaius checked him over, and tried to ensure that Arthur didn’t do anything stupid like _collapse_ whilst they were _checking out the army_ (looking for Merlin) and that he’d be able to fight _should it be necessary_ (when they beat the living daylights out of anyone who had tried to hurt Merlin).

Gaius had made a few mumbled protests about Arthur going on the trip, but anyone could see that his heart wasn’t really in them.

“Your father would never forgive me.”

Arthur gave a rueful, but sad, smile. “My father tried to _kill me_ the last time we met; he’d probably be thanking you right now.”

Gaius paused in the act of prodding Arthur’s calf, and looked up at the man he had helped to raise. “Understand this, Arthur, your father always loved you. When you last met he was a restless spirit, not the man you or I knew.”

Arthur pondered this for a moment. Seconds passed.

“Gaius…” Arthur’s looked uncomfortably at his hand and began massaging the knuckles in an attempt to look at anywhere but the physician’s face. “You’ve always been like a father to me.”

Gaius had stopped prodding his leg again, and when Arthur dared to look, he saw that a rare smile was gracing the wrinkled face. “I have always done my best to support you where your life has been…deficient in other aspects.”

Arthur nodded. His dead mother. His harsh father.

“You know…” Now it was Arthur’s turn to smile. “My earliest memory is with you.”

Gaius’ eyebrow rose in surprise (Merlin and Arthur referred to it as “the Gaius Face”), and Arthur’s smile widened.

“I think I must have been three, maybe four, and I had just fallen and hurt my knee. You were cleaning it up, and…and I think you got a letter. About someone you knew, someone with a baby. I started begging to go and see it, and said they could be my friend, and that…and I think I said they could be my brother or sister… Why are you laughing?” Arthur’s face had been contorted in concentration, but if he’d been surprised at Gaius’ smile, he was even more shocked to see him shaking with mirth.

Gaius was still wiping the tears from his eyes when he said “Arthur…that letter was from Hunith”

**\---0---**

Arthur had been slightly queasy at the thought of getting on a horse again, but pushed that thought aside as Celyn brought forward a fawn-coloured gelding called Helden. This horse looked to be slightly younger than Bethilde, but was of a similar build, which was probably why he had been chosen.

Within an hour, Arthur, Lancelot, Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Leon were deep in the forest. Obviously a troupe of six (soon to be seven) horsemen could travel far faster than an army of thousands, and presumably the army would have moved at least a little closer to Camelot, but the knights knew that to spend too long away from Camelot would be close to handing the city to Morgana, and so rode with all speed, stopping only to refill their waterskins.

It was not long before midday when Gwaine, who needed a lot of water to fuel his constant jabbering, started to complain that he was thirsty again, and they stopped by a stream.

It was situated in one of the less forested areas of the woods. The trees there were mostly quite young, the canopy not that high above their heads and the covering sparse. Somewhere nearby, a bird could be heard jabbering, and a squirrel considered them for a moment before scampering up the bark of one of the more elderly residents of the glade. The stream itself was reaching the point where it could hardly be called a stream; though shallow, it was quite wide, but it spluttered and babbled over the stones that made its bed in a way that could not be connected with a river. The shadows cast by the trees and the shifting, dappled light that shone through the softly swaying leaves threw golden reflections of the ripples on the water across the scarlet-clad men, encasing them in a delicate suffusion of light.

“ _Of course!_ ”

They all turned to stare at Lancelot. Whilst they had been basking in the beauty of the scene, he had been staring about him with a thoughtful expression gracing his features, but was now beaming at the river and the trees with wonder.

Ignoring the rest of them, he stepped forward and knelt down on the bank. “I didn’t recognise it,” he breathed, aghast “night was falling when I was last here.” He placed his hand so that it was just touching the surface of the stream and let out a laugh.

“Lancelot…” Arthur said, in the tone of voice he usually reserved for Merlin when he was being strange. “…what are you talking about?”

“This was where we stopped! When Merlin had been attacked by the Dorocha, we slept here when we had been on our way to Camelot!” Lancelot looked up at the air around him “And they helped him, and protected us…”

“You stopped _here_?” Arthur exclaimed. He was surprised that they had stayed outside when something as deadly as the Dorocha were abroad.

Lancelot had looked over at Arthur when he spoke, but upon sight of him, a little of the light faded from his eyes, and he clammed up once more, hunching his shoulders slightly and lowering his head as he always did when he was being respectful to Arthur.

Arthur swallowed any more questions he might have put to the knight.

And before anyone could say another word, the sound of screaming from across the brook threw all thought of Lancelot’s behaviour from their minds.


	7. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Morgana have a chat, whilst Arthur and the knights find something rather unexpected in the woods...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wince* I find the beginning of this chapter a little embarrassing. Whump is not my strong point, and this is from my early, completely obsessed and insane period of writing, where I was posting every day or so (it is still a work in progress, but life has crept up on me, so I write a LOT slower)
> 
> The second half of this however... well lets just say a character is introduced who plays a major part in the story, and has a reach, for me, far further than just this fic...Basically I love this character. A lot.
> 
> Anyone who has read this on FF.net may notice I've re-edited some of it, so it's a little better in some places.

Chapter 7: Something New

Merlin credited the fact that Morgana hadn’t died from the glares he had fixed on her to the collar around his neck. If that weren’t there, she would surely be convulsing on the floor right now.

The lady in question smiled at his reaction.

They were standing in the forest – or, what had once been the forest; this side of the river was now completely devoid of all trees for about a mile, cut down to accommodate the army and fuel the many fires that had been burning all through the night. The river itself had become sluggish as the men threw their discarded meals into it, washed their filthy clothes in it, and relieved themselves of the burden that their bladders were carrying in it. A bucket of this heavenly water had been dumped over Merlin that morning to rouse him, and he now stood, hands bound behind him, shivering as his sodden clothes drew the heat from his body, and glaring at the object clasped in Morgana’s hand.

Morgana, despite having moved out of her hovel some time ago, looked if anything worse. Her hair remained as knotted and tangled as ever, but her skin was so pale as to be almost translucent, her eyes shadowed from lack of sleep and her lips dry and cracked. 

“I am not your _dog_ , Morgana” he said, voice smouldering as much as his eyes.

Merlin gasped as a fist plunged into his stomach and his knees connected painfully with the ground. He tried to look up, but before he could, Morgana’s hand was in his hair and pushing it down as she breathed menacingly into his ear.

“You lost _all_ right to your own life, your own _gifts_ , when you used them to _betray_ your own species!” she snarled. “You sided with _Uther_ , the child-killer, and my idiot of a brother! You stood against _me_!” a smile curled her lips and her eyes twinkled. “ _You_ , the _bastard son of a Dragon-Lord_ ”

He stiffened, imperceptibly, under her hand. “Arthur is the Once and Future king who will unite the land of Albion. He _will_ return magic to Camelot”

Her derisive laugh grated against her throat. “Tell me, _Emrys_ ,” the name sounded like a curse from her lips “how many have died for you and Arthur?”

Merlin couldn’t stop the names from flitting through his head. _Will. Father. Nearly Mother. Nearly Gaius. Alator. Finna._

An involuntary shiver encompassed him as her fingers withdrew from his hair and began to move down his neck.

“How many times have you stood by and watched as an innocent died? Watched as yet another was sentenced to be executed, when you had the power to prevent it?”

_Thomas Collins. Mordred’s father. Nearly Mordred. Nearly Gwen. Nearly Gaius. Kara_

She reached the collar and tapped a fingernail against it, making him flinch.

“How many innocents has Arthur killed?”

_FREYAFREYAFREYAFREYA_.

Fingers clasped around the collar, she yanked his head up to look into his eyes, digging her fingers into his face as she made him turn to look at her.

Two pairs of eyes met, just for a moment, one set triumphant at the shame it found in the other.

The Dark Lady stood and watched the slumped figure in silence before saying, in a voice devoid of all emotion “Get up”

Merlin hissed to stop himself from crying out when a kick was aimed at his ribs, and did his best to stand up without using his arms. One of her men, however got impatient, and roughly grabbed him at the elbow and dragged him to his feet.

Still Merlin did not look at Morgana. He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“All this, for a man who’d kill you without a second’s thought if he knew. You may not be _my_ dog, Merlin, but you _are_ Arthur’s. Too scared to fight him for his cruelty for fear he’ll be cruel to you.”

This time, Merlin didn’t pull back, or glare, as Morgana attached the chain she’d been holding to the loop on his collar. He didn’t see her walk to her horse and pull herself up, other end of the chain in hand, or hear her call out to the men. He didn’t even realise she’d started moving until he felt the chain tug on his collar and the collar rub painfully against his already chafed skin, pulling on him and making him trip forward inelegantly.

He didn’t even fight back. Just stumbled along behind her staring at the ground and doing his best not to fall.

It was going to be a long, long road.

**\---0---**

The knights had abandoned their red cloaks at the horses, and were now making their way towards a small clump of trees, swords drawn, slightly crouched. The screaming had stopped, and all they could hear were voices talking at a distance, but occasionally a small whimper was carried by the wind in their direction. They continued on.

Soon the voices grew louder, and black-clad figures came into sight. The Camelot knights quickly ducked behind some bushes before they could be spotted, and settled on the balls of their feet to discuss a plan of attack.

It didn’t last long. Three seconds after the silent deliberations started, Gwaine decided he would put his usual ‘run-in-screaming-and-save-everyone’ tactic into action.

Arthur just sighed and shrugged. “It works better than most plans anyway.”

As he and the other knights ran in after Gwaine (only not screaming), Arthur absorbed the scene before him in the peace before the storm that occurs the heartbeat before battle. It was a rather strange arrangement;

It seemed to stem from two individuals – a shabbily dressed boy, no more than nine years old, who was lying curled on the ground surrounded by Saxons, and a girl. The girl was older, more like thirteen or fourteen, but was dressed all in black, only with trousers like she had been riding, a black cloak, and good boots. They were not decorative, or even poor, or rich, they just…were. Her hair, like her clothes, was jet black, and cut short to just beneath her chin, but her skin was very pale, no doubt made more so by the colour of her attire. Around her stood a few of the men, who were pointing their swords at her uncertainly as if she had only just arrived. She didn’t seem to care about them though; she stood, arm outstretched towards the boy on the ground, with her head turned away so that Arthur could not see her features. Upon his entrance, however, she had turned in surprise to face them, and Arthur just had time to note the rather odd colour of her eyes when–

_Clang!_ A sword came swinging in his direction, and Arthur instinctively brought his up to meet it. In a second he had abandoned all thoughts of the strange girl, and was focusing entirely on the fight, here and now, as he quickly dealt with the one he was facing and, swinging round, debilitated another. The other knights were similarly engaged, Lancelot, Elyan and Leon deftly parrying and sidestepping as he had taught them, Gwaine using his fists as much as his sword, and Percival simply _charging_ at them.

There weren’t that many Saxons there, their skills with a sword far outmatched by that of the knights, and they were dispatched quickly, with not a single injury on the Camelot side. And so it was that they found themselves in the centre of the camp, all the Saxons either dead or fleeing, with the two children either side.

Finally, Arthur got a good look at the girl’s features. They were thin, and lean, but that wasn’t what attracted his attention.

Her eyes were swirling with, burning with, a bright, iridescent, _gold_.

_Snap_.  They whirled around as one, and locked eyes with a Saxon, attempting to creep off into the forest before they spotted him. Panicked, the Saxon stared around him, before pulling out the dagger that hung at his hip.

Arthur was a second too late to catch the boy’s arm before he was dragged out of reach with a yelp, and the dagger pressed against his neck.   

“Take one step closer, and I’ll slit the boy’s throat!” He yelled, holding the boy in an iron grip, which, judging from the look on his face, was the only thing stopping the boy from fainting.

“Let him go, you _coward_ ” Arthur growled, face set.

 The man laughed. “I’d rather be a coward than dead!”

“Then you ought to let him go," said a voice "you might make it if you run."

It was the girl who had spoken, yet it did not sound like the voice of a child. It sounded too knowledgeable, too confident, too…old.

She stepped past Arthur, making no sound as she crossed the fallen leaves and branches that littered the forest floor, and face impassive and clear. The Saxon’s Adam’s apple bobbed under the intensity of her golden eyed gaze.

“No closer! I’ll - I’ll kill him! Don't come any closer!” came his panicked cry.

She stopped, cocking her head. “Why would I need to do that?”

Without a word, the dagger at the boy’s neck was tugged away by an invisible force, and thudded into a tree nearby. His other arm was flung outwards, releasing the boy from his hold, and allowing him to stumble forwards to the ground.

The man was left there, eyes wide, arms outwards at his side in a defensive position, and feet splayed, ready to run.

She raised her arm.

“Killing me won’t save you!” he shouted desperately, angrily.  The man’s eyes flickered to Arthur’s. “That’s _Arthur Pendragon_ behind you, the King of Camelot!”

The girl remained motionless, with her back to the knights, but the boy gasped, turning his head in their direction, fear etched into every line of his face.

“The boy is a _Druid_!” sneered the man. “He has _magic_! And the girl is…” His face became as fearful as the Druid boy’s as he turned, head shaking in disbelief, to face the girl once more “…Something _new_ ”

Then he spun round and sprinted off between the trees, legs pumping madly.

Arthur was snapped out of his trance as he spotted the girl lean down and pull the boy to his feet.

“You have magic.” Arthur breathed.

The movement was fluid. Before he could even blink, she twisted, pushing the child behind her and glaring at him, one eyebrow raised almost scornfully. She had not spoken a word, yet the meaning of her look reached them clearly. _Well? Will you kill us, Arthur Pendragon?_

It was only then that he realised he still had Excalibur grasped in his hand, and cursed inwardly at his stupidity. Eyes never leaving her's, and movements slow and cautious, he lowered himself to the ground and placed the sword on the crackling leaves, before standing to his full height once more. A quick glance behind him confirmed that the others had done the same.

“Please” he said quietly, with his hands slightly raised to show he wouldn’t try to grab the sword again. “I have no intention of harming you. Are either of you injured?”

Her aspect had changed dramatically. she relaxed visibly, her eyes and expression softening, and something that could almost be called amusement tinted her air.

“I am perfectly fine, thank you, your Majesty” she said, inclining her head towards him. “And, thankfully, I believe the boy here is uninjured too. I was intervening myself when you arrived, but you were perhaps a little more…forward.” She surveyed the carnage with something in her eyes of pity for the men that were strewn across the camp.

“I…” He wasn’t quite sure whether she approved of his actions, but continued anyway. “I’m glad I could help. And I think equal credit is due to you.”

He needn’t have worried. As he had spoken she had cocked her head to the side again as if listening to something, and now had her swirling golden eyes fixed on him with a sad expression on her face.

“You search for your friend, do you not, Sire?”

Lancelot stepped forward eagerly, eyes alight with excitement. “You know of Merlin? Can you help us to find him?”

She grimaced, as if in pain “I do know of Merlin, but I’m afraid I cannot help you. He is in the clutches of Morgana, and fate has chosen its path. For now, I must follow behind till the next opportunity, but I can direct you.”

Her words made absolutely no sense to Arthur, but he asked all the same. “How?”

A small sigh escaped her as she said “By telling you to return to Camelot. Now”

For a moment there was silence, before Gwaine declared “No way. We’re not leaving him, especially now we know that Morgana has him.”

She shook her head. “I am sorry, but you won’t find him. Not tonight. His journey to Camelot is by a different route to yours, and if you wish to see him again, you need to leave _now_ ”

The silence stretched on.

“ _Please_!” a note of desperation seeped into her tone. “Morgana has Emrys! Camelot has no defence against her attack! You _must_ return now, or you _never_ will!”

“ _Morgana_ _has Lord Emrys_!”

Arthur spun once more to face the new addition to the party in the glade. It was the grey-haired leader of the Druids that Arthur had encountered twice before, and he was now staring at them all in fury. Arthur was more surprised at this display of emotion than he was at the man’s sudden appearance; he had never seen the man display any emotion, let alone such a strong one as this.

“Iseldir!” the little boy cried, and ran out from behind the girl to bury his face in the robes of the Druid chief “She saved me! The Garred saved me!”

_That_ was when Iseldir spotted the girl. Under other circumstances, the look of shock on his face would be almost comic.

Smiling, she bowed respectfully, before turning to face Arthur. “Heed my words, Arthur Pendragon. I shall see you soon.”

And without another word, she faded away into nothingness, leaving nothing but a breath of wind where she had stood.


	8. The Journey Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are made, and Arthur is faced with a decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm publishing this early because I'm going away for the week, so enjoy!
> 
> There's some more attempts at whump in this chapter, which, again, I'm not good at, but I do like the first bit
> 
> Please review! Imagine how nice it would be to comeback from my holiday and see lots of lovely reviews on my email!

Chapter 8: The Journey Home

“Well, I don’t know about you lot, but I’m not going to listen to some stuck-up teenage sorceress with a fondness for vanishing. We can’t leave Merlin.” Gwaine declared, already leaning down to retrieve his sword from the ground.

“But what if what she said about Camelot is right?” Percival said uncertainly “If Camelot is in danger now, we should go back.”

“I’m not sure we can trust a magic user” Leon muttered thoughtfully, then glanced at Arthur. “But if he is being held by Morgana, then there is little we can do to help even if we _do_ find him. Rescuing him from the patrol that took him is one thing, but retrieving him from _Morgana_ ,” he shook his head “that’s something else entirely.”

“Might I offer you my advice?” Iseldir, it seemed, had recovered a little from his shock upon seeing the girl, though he seemed a little unsteady, and his eyes had a faraway look to them.

“If…if you wish.” Arthur said warily, eyeing the man. He could hear his father’s voice in his head; _The Druids are not to be trusted – they would see our kingdom destroyed_. But counteracting his father’s familiar words came Merlin’s voice, clear as a bell – _The Druids are peaceful, Arthur, you know that. And Iseldir has never sought to harm you or bring harm to Camelot_.

Iseldir nodded gratefully “The being you just met is a creature of great wisdom and… _untold_ power. We are very fortunate to have seen her – the list of mortals who have would not fill a small village. But she does not appear – or give such warnings – without sound reason.”

Arthur thought of her bright golden eyes; he had seen himself that sorcerer’s eyes turned such a colour when they used magic, but hers had not faded. Untold power did not seem so unlikely. “You think she spoke the truth.”

Iseldir pondered this for a moment, before saying slowly “Yes…but know this; the Garred is an immortal, and a guardian of this world. The lives of mortal’s are but a blink of her eye, and she has a far wider picture to look at than whether Camelot remains in your hands or not. However, she is also considered to be a protector and friend to innocents and all those who suffer needlessly.” At this he smiled and ruffled the hair of the boy in his arms who stared up at him with wide-eyes. “I cannot guarantee that her intentions are for your good, but they _are_ for the good of everyone who will be affected by the decisions made today. She would never allow people to needlessly suffer.” Head still down as he thought, he started to nod. “It is clear to me that you must do as she asks, but if it helps, I think she has sided with you. She will side with Emrys, not Morgana.”

 _Emrys_. He kept hearing that name, over and over, and every time he did he could feel a jolt down his spine. Arthur was overcome with curiosity, and was about to let the questions flow forth from his tongue when Lancelot spoke;

“Speaking of which, what are we going to do about Merlin?”

Iseldir’s head jerked at Lancelot’s words, and he was now studying Lancelot intently. Arthur frowned as he saw Lancelot give an almost imperceptible nod in the Druid chief’s direction.

Iseldir turned his attention back to Arthur. “If you wish to return to Camelot, then _we_ will continue the search for…” the corner of his lips lifted slightly “… _Merlin_ ”

“But you’re a…” Arthur blinked in surprise at the Druid’s words until he recovered himself “I mean, I’m thrilled that you want to help, don’t get me wrong, but…why would you? And why would that girl? My father, he harmed so many of your people, and I…” a red flush crept up his cheeks and he glanced at his feet, unable to look at the man in front of him, old before his time, and the boy who shook with fear at the sight of him. “Well, I’m not exactly guiltless either. Morgana is a sorceress; I’d have thought you would side with her.”

When Arthur looked up at Iseldir’s face again, he thought he could see some sympathy in the way he stared at him. “Morgana may have magic, but she is no queen. You could not help who you were born as, any more than we can, but you have kindness in your heart. Your actions today prove this. Despite what you think, there are many with magic who would stand at your side, one who already does. The majority of Druids would gladly ally themselves with you and Emrys.”

Yet again, that name. It wasn’t the only thing about the Druid’s speech he wished to question, but he pushed that aside for now; there was something far more important to do first.

“Then I thank you. Whatever people may think of me, I am not my father, and I have no wish to be so. And I do this in the hope that, in future, there can be friendship between us”

And Arthur extended his hand towards the man. For a moment Iseldir stared at it, uncertain, no doubt remembering how Arthur had once held a sword to a young Druid boy’s neck with that hand. But then a smile spread across his face, and he reached forward too, clasping the King’s arm at just below the elbow.

“That would be my dearest wish, Arthur Pendragon.”

For a moment they stood there, the Druid and the King, clasping hands in the bright sunbeams that filtered through the branches and leaves above them, bathing them in dappled light. The knights, standing behind Arthur, were all smiling at the sight, but there was one for whom this moment meant more than all the rest.

Lancelot’s smile was one of sadness as well as joy, at the thought of these two enemies finally putting the past behind them. And as they bid farewell to the Druid and the boy, he could not help but wish that Merlin had been there to witness it. _After all,_ he thought, _it was him that brought them together._

**\---0---**

There was silence between the six friends as their horses trotted along the road back to Camelot. They were hoping to be back before nightfall, but they knew their steeds could not run at speed for too long, so were giving them a chance to get their breath back before they started the race back to Camelot.

Arthur was the most pensive of the knights. The words of his promise kept running through his head, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made the right choice. What if Morgana killed him now? How could he live his life knowing Merlin had died when he could have saved him? So lost was he in his thoughts that he didn’t hear when Percival rode up beside him.

“Arthur?” The knight’s face was all concern “Merlin will be fine, really. You know what he’s like!” Percival grinned. “He’ll throw himself into ridiculously dangerous situations, completely unarmed, get a bit injured, then come limping back to Camelot, blaming you all the way.”

Arthur snorted.

“When…when Cenred’s army attacked my village, I wasn’t there” Percival said. They all turned to look at him sharply; Percival never spoke about that. He was staring down, grasping the reigns of his horse so hard his knuckles turned white. “I heard what happened before I got there, and there were those few days when I had no idea whether or not they were alright. It was almost a relief when it was all over…” He took a deep breath and rotated his head to look at Arthur once more. “I know how you’re feeling, but Merlin will be different. They were completely defenceless, but, somehow, Merlin isn’t.”

“What makes you say that?” Lancelot said quietly.

Percival twisted in his saddle to look at Lancelot quickly before answering, and in that moment Arthur realised he wasn’t alone in his suspicions that the knight was hiding something. “I don’t know. I’ve just always had this feeling, like…like we’re underestimating him.”

“You’ve got that right!” Gwaine muttered. “But it doesn’t make it right that we’ve left him. I’m still not sure this is a good idea–”

“It is.” Lancelot said forcefully. Now they were _really_ surprised; Lancelot and Merlin were very close – and Lancelot was so…noble. When they left, they’d half expected him to say he was going to go off on his own to look for him. “Percival’s right – You do underestimate him. More than you know. If he’d been there, he’d be telling us to do exactly what we’re doing now.”

“Yes, but that’s because he’s a self-sacrificing idiot.” Arthur said.

“It’s because he’s loyal to you, Arthur, and to Camelot. And I know for a fact that he would never forgive me if I tried to put him above the safety of either.” reasoned Lancelot, laughing a little at the end, though his face was still grim. “Besides, the Garred said that we would only see him again if we returned to Camelot now – and I agree. Whatever happens, Merlin will always return to Camelot, come hell or high water, he always comes back, because he knows that’s where you are, Arthur. We’re doing the right thing.”

Though nobody said it, they were all comforted by Lancelot’s words; he was right, and they knew it. But in Arthur’s heart, the curiosity and unease that had been gathering there since he had overheard Lancelot and Gaius’ conversation that morning only grew.

They were hiding something, him and Gaius, something about Merlin, something important. And Arthur was going to find out what it was.

**\---0---**

_Keep going……One more step……Not long now……Not much further……Almost there……_

Such ran Merlin’s thoughts as he tried to keep his feet moving over the exhaustion in his legs and the aching in his feet and the burning of his wrists. The knees on his trousers had ripped from the many times he had fallen, and his neck was rubbed raw from the ceaseless, never-ending tugging on his collar.

It was with a sense of resignation that he felt his feet catch on yet another root, and he tumbled to the ground, breath whooshing from his lungs as he thudded onto the hard, dirt road. He didn’t even have enough air in them to gasp with pain as the chain fixed to his neck went taught, dragging him along a few centimetres before the men behind him could pull him to his feet and shove him forward once more.

They needn’t have bothered; he only went a couple more steps before he collapsed to his knees once more, shoulders slumped and chest rising and falling rapidly.

This time round Morgana stopped, halting the train of people and horses completely. Merlin sighed gladly at the release of pressure on his neck, only to suck it back in as the soldier’s foot connected with his stomach, leaving Merlin curled over on the floor.

Groaning from the pain Merlin was hauled onto his knees again and held there, forcibly bowing to the hated woman who stood in front of him. He felt Morgana’s finger under his chin, forcing him to look up at her cold, grey eyes.

“Are you going to stand up now?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.

Merlin shook his head, desperately trying to stop his voice from breaking. “I _can’t_ ”

His head snapped to the side as Morgana’s other hand flashed across his cheek. “Maybe you should have thought about that when you decided to turn _traitor_ on your own kind!”

He heard her sigh as she straightened up. “Alright, set up camp. We’re nearly there, and it’s getting dark, anyway.”

Relief flooded through him at her words, and when someone stepped forward and hammered a ring into the ground before his knees, he couldn’t even bring himself to glare at her as she fastened the chain to it, eyes flashing gold as she used magic to seal it in place.

“Hungry?”

A full waterskin and a piece of bread were thrown to the ground in front of him.

“How am I meant to eat and drink with my hands tied?” Merlin said with gritted teeth.

Another flash of gold and the ropes snapped. Merlin made sure he didn’t launch himself on the water immediately; it wouldn’t do for Morgana to know how desperate he was. He rubbed his wrists subconsciously before leaning down to pick up the water, his movements deliberately slow.

When he had finished – the water had been like balm on wounds, the bread helping to fill that emptiness that gaped in him – he looked around only to realise he was alone. A little way away, the men were starting up a fire, and it sputtered into life, bathing them in a warm glow. Merlin was sitting just outside the circle of light, but his pride would not allow him to use the remaining extension on his chain to get closer, and he hugged his knees instead, ignoring the smug looks and smirks that the soldiers threw in his direction.

He fell asleep in three minutes.

Just above the canopy, the towers of Camelot rose.


	9. The preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur returns home, more is revealed about the mysterious Garred. Meanwhile, Morgana is furthering her plan...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry its been so long, but I went away for a week with school, and then the catching up I had to do completely wiped it from my mind.
> 
> When I originally posted this on FF.net, I asked for suggestions for Morgana's takeover plan, then somehow managed to combine them. This chapter is the beginning of her machinations...
> 
> Please read, review, kudos, bookmark, whatever floats your boat!

Chapter 9: The Preparations

Night had fallen over Albion.

The shadows of the trees, which had been lengthening since midday, had finally grown to encompass everything – not just the forest, but the city, and the fields, and even the sky above. The canopy of the trees, which had all day been dappling the light that shone onto the ground, had been reversed; now they dappled the shadows onto the heavens. And in that black, overcast sky, only the tiniest pinpricks of light could be seen, where the light broke through the oppressive awning that tried its hardest to block it from view.

Such was the night as Mordred saw it.

He sat, leaning against a tree, and staring up through a gap in the leaves. His sword, newly forged in Aithusa’s breath, lay at his side, and the jeers and calls of the Saxons lay far behind him as they celebrated the oncoming attack. He could not say for certain why Morgana had asked him here, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t have an idea. She wanted to use him, him and the knowledge he had, to destroy Camelot, the place he had called home for almost a year now. She wanted him to help kill Arthur Pendragon, who had been his friend and mentor, to break Emrys, who had been his role model, and harm all those he had come to care about in the city that lay just beyond the line of trees.

At the thought, Mordred closed his eyes, and smiled. They would pay for betraying his trust.

“Mordred.”

The young man started and turned to see who had spoken, then stood and bowed upon the sight of Lady Morgana Pendragon, tall and proud on that moonless, starlit night. “My Lady.”

She smiled, and approached him. “It begins tomorrow, Mordred. Are you ready for the responsibility? Are you prepared to destroy them with me?” Her eyes were questioning.

“More than ever.”

**\---0---**

As the clop of hooves drew closer, nearing the gate to the inner courtyard, Gwen felt herself straighten in readiness for whatever injuries they would have. The lookouts Arthur had ordered to be posted around the city had sent word that some horsemen, in Camelot cloaks, where riding for the city at great speed. Arthur and his First Knights were returning.

Gaius stood beside her, medicine bag in readiness, and sensed her unease. “Don’t worry, My Lady. That they are returning at all is a good sign. And their injuries cannot be too bad if they managed to return this quickly – They have been successful, I am sure of it.”

Gwen gave him a grateful smile. “I hope you are right, Gaius – for all our sakes.” Looking back towards the courtyard’s entrance, her original expression of worry returned to her features. “I just have a terrible feeling that something bad has happened,” she frowned, “or will do.”

The court physician said nothing to that. Though he said nothing, he felt the same way.

For the second time that day, Arthur rode into the courtyard, only this time with his knights riding behind him. Gwen and Gaius scanned their faces forensically, the old man’s knees going weak at what he saw; Arthur looked absolutely exhausted, Gwaine sulky, Lancelot worried and Leon, Percival and Elyan grim – no sign of any injuries, but also no sign of something else.

Merlin wasn’t with them.

Arthur and the others reached the centre of the square and dismounted, Arthur marching over to them quickly.

“Has anything happened? Are you all right?” He said, putting a hand on Gwen’s shoulder and looking between the two of them.

“We – we’re fine Arthur. What happened? Couldn’t you find him?” Gwen said, surprised.

Arthur sighed, and passed his hand wearily over his face. “Not exactly.”

“Then…what happened?”

The knights and Arthur cast guilty looks at each other, minus Gwaine, who grumbled loudly “We left him! We left him, because a magical creature told us that Camelot was in danger, and we had to return immediately! Looks like we couldn’t trust her after all.” He glowered at Arthur, shouldering past Lancelot and trudging furiously up the steps, already pulling off his armour.

“A magical creature?” Gaius said curiously, turning his attention back to Arthur.

The young King nodded. “Iseldir, the Druid chief, called her the Garred.”

Gaius froze. Gwen had intended to ask him how he had ended up on first name terms with a Druid, but held in her questions at the look on Gaius’ face. His eyes were wide and his mouth was agape, and his next words were no more than a whisper; “You…you saw…you saw the Garred! A young girl, dark hair, gold eyes?”

Arthur and Gwen exchanged a worried look. “Yes…” Arthur said slowly “Iseldir told us a little about her, but not much. He seemed surprised to see her though.”

Something a little like a snort escaped Gaius’ throat, and his eyes widened further as he gave a single, slightly sarcastic, nod. “Well, yes, I can very well imagine he would be!”

Gwen placed a hand on the old man’s arm. “Who is she, Gaius?”

“Well…a myth, for starters. Apart from some Druids, most do not believe in her existence. I myself had decided that she did not exist. She is in many of the very oldest of our stories, passed down from our ancestors.”

“Well, then, _what_ is she?”

Gaius gave Arthur a strange look. “She is meant to be the most powerful creature in existence. In fact, it is from ‘Garred’ that we got the word ‘god’, though not enough people believed she was real for _her_ to be ever worshipped as such.”

Everyone went completely silent.

“So…so we just met a god?” Elyan said uncertainly.

“If you like. It’s just a title; she is only ever called the Garred.”

Arthur had his head down, thinking hard and fiddling with a hole in his cloak. “Iseldir said she would try to help us – that she would side with…us, and not Morgana.” Arthur had briefly considered slipping in that name, Emrys, but something told him not to. No-one but Lancelot noticed the omission, and he threw Arthur a curious look.

Gaius pondered this for a moment. “In her position, I would do the same, but I would do that because you are a better ruler than her. Though that is no doubt a part of her motivation, there is probably much more at stake than that, if she is getting involved. You may well never see her again, but if she intends to help you, she will be trying to influence things from the background. The stories told about her say that she very rarely lets anyone see her.”

Elyan nodded. “That makes sense. I don’t think she intended for us to see her.” At their questioning looks, he elaborated. “She may well have been following us, to try and make us turn back another way. She heard the screams, like us, and was forced to let those men see her because it was such short notice.”

Arthur had spotted Gwen’s eyes widening and said quickly “We met her rescuing a young Druid from a patrol of Saxons.”

“I think Elyan is right.” Gaius murmured significantly “Whether as an enemy or a friend, the Garred has chosen to become Camelot’s shadow.”

Not long after this, the knights, physician, King and Queen went inside the castle, unaware that they were watched from the darkness that gathered in the corners of the courtyard as night drew over the citadel. The figure had heard every word that they said, and now had a small smile curling up the corners of their lips.

For a moment, one of the servants thought he saw a small girl standing next to one of the pillars. But then he blinked, and when he looked again, there was nothing but a shadow where the child had stood.         

**\---0---**

“ _Líhtinge_ ” Merlin muttered, hand hovering over the collar at the back of his neck. But the warlock felt no surge of power, nor did his eyes turn gold, and the collar certainly didn’t crack or release him as he had wanted it to. Merlin felt despair tugging at his mind, and allowed himself to curl his hand into a fist to try and alleviate his panic, his arm shaking, his eyes closed.

He had woken up a couple of hours before as the first light of dawn had hit his face, and had looked around to see that all the Saxons were still asleep. This was the first time Merlin had been both on his own and conscious at the same time since Morgana had first activated the stupid collar, and he intended to use every moment of it.

He had, at first, attempted to get the collar off, knowing he would be unable to use magic until he did. He had pulled on every ounce of strength he had, but he couldn’t even feel that his magic was there, let alone use it. Frustrated, he had then started trying to break the chain off the collar, the chain off the ring, the ring out of the ground, _anything_ , but to no avail. And now here he was, stuck back at square one.

It wasn’t just the fact that it blocked his magic; it was the fact that it was just one small object that made him Morgana’s prisoner, Morgana’s slave, Morgana’s dog. It was the _feel_ of it against his neck, the feeling of not being able to take it off. He could take his neckerchief off if he wanted – he could move his hands, he could turn his head, but he _couldn’t_ take the collar off, he couldn’t move more than two metres from the ring he was fixed to – and that killed him, that feeling that he wasn’t in control. Still shaking from the depths of his panic at being chained up like this, he inserted his fingers inbetween the metal and his skin and pulled, attempting to try and at least loosen it.

“Emrys.”

Merlin whirled around to face the camp, rubbing the back of his head guiltily to try and disguise what he’d been doing, but he stopped and stared when he saw who it was.

Mordred was standing near the ashes of the fire, staring at him with a dead look in his eyes.

Merlin’s heart was a mess of conflicting emotions as he saw the young man, but there were two that were more prominent than the others. The first; fear. The man who stood before him, with his cold, hard eyes was the man he had seen kill Arthur in a way that that gullible, loyal boy could never have been. This was a man who could do as he did in the vision.

The second emotion, however, was far stronger; guilt. Merlin knew, deep down, that it was he who had done this, who had made him into this. Yet again, Merlin had seen the future and had caused it to happen.

It took Mordred a few moments before he could speak, but when he did, his voice was shaking with pent up anger, and his eyes were burning threateningly. “Don’t. Move.”

Merlin nodded, the fear returning, only this time for himself; if he wasn’t careful, Mordred would just kill him there and then, he was sure of it.

Mordred walked past where he sat, frozen, and knelt next to the ring on the ground that Merlin was fixed to, holding one of his hands over it and grasping the chain tightly with the other.

“ _Líhtinge._ ”

To Merlin’s chagrin, the chain unwound itself immediately, and Mordred rewound it around his own hand tightly, standing up as he did so. Merlin had been ordered to his feet too many times in the past day or two to let it happen again, and he stood up as well, clasping the now taught chain in his hands as Mordred walked away, dragging Merlin behind him and every now and then giving a vicious pull on it so that Merlin tripped and almost fell. The warlock glared at the Druid boy’s back darkly.

Peering over Mordred’s shoulder, he saw that they were walking towards a small group of people, who stood under a low hanging branch of a tree. They did not look like Saxons, but were dressed in dark, practical clothes, and were staring at him as he approached with almost as much hatred as Mordred had.

They parted, and Merlin realised they were in a circle. Merlin tried to pull back, to stop before he reached the edge of the group, but one of them came up behind him and shoved him into the centre. This time it was too much, and he fell to the ground, breaking his fall with his hands and burning with shame as they laughed out loud. He got to his knees.

“Here we are!” called Morgana, taking his chain from Mordred “The great Emrys!”

The group sniggered.

“What do you want from me, Morgana?” Merlin said, focusing on her and doing his best to be indifferent to the looks of loathing he was surrounded by.

Morgana grinned. “My friends here have magic, Merlin. They all agree with me that your faith in Arthur is entirely misplaced, and that you are not worth following.”

Murmurs of assent spread around the circle.

“We also intend to take Camelot – tonight.”

Merlin’s head snapped up. “Arthur knows about the army. He’ll be prepared.”

Yet another evil, knowing smirk. “Not for what I’ve got planned…”

Merlin gulped. He had a really bad feeling about this.

“The problem is that even combined, we are not strong enough to command the magic which I wish to perform. How fortunate that we happen to have the greatest warlock who has ever lived in our midst!” Morgana said scornfully.

Hands gripped his wrists and bound them roughly behind his back as he struggled. More hands fastened his ankles together, and someone was passing a rope around his legs so that he couldn’t use his knees to shuffle away. Morgana walked over and twisted his collar around, making him wince, so that the chain connected at the back of his neck. Merlin felt rather than saw as she threw her end of the chain over the branch overhead, fixing it in place with magic and pulling it just tight enough that he couldn’t slump down, and was forced to put as much pressure on his knees as possible just to make sure he didn’t strangle himself.

Morgana knelt down behind him "You know, we came across some tracks earlier. And a scrap of cloth from a Camelot cloak."

Merlin could not help the sliver of hope that ran down his spine.

"Arthur came looking for you - but he turned back"

The hope he felt turned ice-hard and painful.

"You should be glad really; if he hadn't, he'd be in our hands now." She motioned with her hands. "Begin!"

“Stop!” he shouted, but no-one was listening to him. Everyone except Morgana, who now stood just outside the group, had clasped hands in a circle, and, to Merlin’s dread, began to speak.

“ _Ábregdan andfangol cræft, befégan reáfigend,_ _ábregdan andfangol cræft, befégan reáfigend_ ”

Golden light hovered around the upper torsos of the sorcerers, and started to wind its way, slowly, stealthily, towards his neck from each of them as they repeated the words, over and over again. Soon there were around 17 of them, moving slowly towards his immobilised form.


	10. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana draws ever nearer, but something strange is happening to Camelot...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I ever so slightly forgot about posting this, but here it is!
> 
> I'm not even going to bother telling you about bits I am ashamed of in this chapter. Just...don't take me too seriously.
> 
> Oooh, and comment! or subscribe or bookmark or whatever. What is bookmarking? Seriously, I have no idea.

Chapter 10: Falling

“Got any more water, Bert?” croaked Alfred, working his jaw and trying to gather some saliva in his parched mouth.

The other lookout, equally as thirsty, shook his waterskin. “Not a drop!”

Alfred scratched his neck, absentmindedly. They had relieved the previous lookouts earlier that morning, and they too had complained of sore throats. Now, with the noontide sun rising high in the sky, Alfred felt like his windpipe was burning, and according to Bert, his was too.

_Maybe we caught something off them_ he wondered, and decided he would pay a visit to Gaius the next day when they got back.

Alfred knelt down and picked up his own waterskin, and, turning to Bert, said “I’ll go and get some more”

Except that he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything at all. His mouth opened, but all that came out was a soft hiss, a rasp of air, then nothing.

The last thing Alfred saw was Bert’s eyes widening, his mouth opening and closing as he attempted to form words, before a very solid object collided with the back of his head, and he knew no more.

**\---0---**

The meeting of war being held in the council chambers was going very badly.

Their army was as strong as it had ever been, stronger, and they had more than enough weapons, but other than that, they could think of no obvious advantage that they had over the Saxons. True, the citadel was a strong fortress, but Morgana had long since done away with any stories of how it had never been breached from the past couple of times it had been taken over by her.

Arthur cleared his throat uncomfortably into the silence that had filled the room after he had asked this question of the councillors. A couple of them coughed too.

It didn’t help that the Garred’s words were still running through Arthur’s mind; _“Morgana has Emrys! Camelot has no defence against her attack!”_

So far, everything he had heard said of this…Emrys suggested he was a defender of Camelot. But in the past couple of hours, a different interpretation of the girl’s words had occurred to Arthur.

What if Morgana intended to use this Emrys in her attack?

Arthur’s thoughts were interrupted yet again by the door to the council chambers opening and Gaius walking in.

Gaius’ voice sounded even croakier than usual “I am sorry my lords, but my duties as a physician have kept me busy.”

“Gaius…” Arthur’s voice, for a moment, rasped, and he cleared his throat once more. “Why? Is there an outbreak of illness?”

“Not as such, sire. Only I have had people calling on me all day for throat remedies. The worst cases are in the lower town – some there have even been struck dumb by it.” Gaius clapped a fist against his chest a couple of times. “I think I might be getting it too.”

It only took a quick glance at the other councillors for Arthur to determine that they, like him, could feel a niggle in their throats as well.

“Erm…excuse me, my lords, if I might speak?” To the surprise of everyone there, one of the guards by the door had stepped forward.

“Of course”

The guard nodded. “Me and my friend were on sentry duty yesterday, and were relieved early this morning. We too developed this throat irritation, but found that it faded more and more as we drew nearer the city. Only…well, now it’s come back”

Arthur had a bad feeling about this “Where were you posted?”

“We were the furthest of the sentries you sent out.”

Gaius broke in to the conversation. “I have heard some similar things; people came saying that they had felt ill that morning, but were better when they reached me–”

“–Because they were further away from the outside of the city. Only now…it’s arrived here too. Gaius, I don’t think this is an ordinary disease.” Arthur finished darkly, partly from his words, and partly from the fact that using a deeper voice irritated his throat less.

The room went completely silent, with the exception of the occasional, irresistible, cough.

Outside, the sun began to set.  

**\---0---**

Mordred was nearly at the city now.

He and the small group of sorcerers had, for the most part, split up. Thirteen of the loyal group were now advancing towards the city from every direction, completely weaponless except for the surging, writhing, mass of power that he knew each and every one of them could feel burning in their chests.

Mordred had never known anything like it. It wouldn’t last long – within an hour, maybe two, the power that they had borrowed would wriggle itself free and return to its rightful master, but even then, unwilling as it was to do his bidding, he could hardly contain it.

And this was just a _part_ of the strength that Emrys held.

Once, this might have made Mordred respect Merlin more; the burden, the responsibility of such power was so great. But instead, the young Druid found it made him hate Merlin more. He didn’t need to wait for Arthur! He had _never_ needed to! With such strength, Merlin could have freed them on his own, and the people that Mordred cared for – Cerdan, his father, Aglain, his mentor, and Kara, his love – need never have died. Need never have suffered at the hands of Arthur and his father.

Mordred quelled his bitterness with the setting sun – he would have plenty of time to act on it later – and continued the walk towards his section of the castle, his three companions following in his wake, eyes dancing.

Then it came into sight; a portion of the castle wall that extended beyond the rest, and a metal grille set over it. The wall was quite old, but the grille was new, from the number of times it had been replaced. Mordred knew, now, why this section did not conform to the circular shape of the city; Uther had ordered for the dungeons to be expanded to make room for the sorcerers he would be filling it with, for a time at least. Mordred had stood behind those bars and waited for the end to come, while Merlin ignored his cries for help.   

Drowning in memories, Mordred and his troupe sat, waiting for the attack to begin.

**\---0---**

Arthur stepped down from the balcony, reaching for a beaker of water and glugging it down straight from the spout.

“You…you did well, your Majesty” Gaius wheezed.

Arthur passed the old man the now half-full beaker, who took it with a nod of thanks.

The King coughed, before rasping, “They deserved to know why…why they can’t speak. It…it _is_ sorcery, isn’t it?”

Arthur thought of the terrified looks on the faces of his soldiers and knights, lit only by torchlight in the growing dark, as they had rubbed their throats and gulped to try and overcome the aching in their windpipes.

Gaius frowned at his question. “It, it _must_ be, but…” the physician coughed. “I have never seen magic like it…there is no anchor in the castle, yet…we can still feel its effects. The strength and range of the magic is…incredible”

“The Garred?” Arthur queried

Despite it all, Gaius laughed. “ _Definitely_ not. She wouldn’t be this…direct”

Arthur sighed, then cleared his throat at the way it ignited his oesophagus. “It’s at times like this I wish…Merlin was here.” He rounded on Gaius suddenly. “Don’t _ever_ tell him I said that!”

Gaius smiled, and croaked “I wouldn’t dream of it, Sire.”

**\---0---**

“ _How_ can you still be awake?”

Morgana sounded furious, but…fascinated at the same time. Merlin looked up from where he had been resting his head against his arms, which had in turn been resting on his knees, and thought he could even see a little _fear_ in her face.

Merlin was still chained to the tree, but his hands and feet had been untied, and the chain had been let down a little so that he could change position and sit down. He could now see, as the other sorcerers had gone, that he had been inside a circle, with runes crudely drawn in the dirt along the edge where each sorcerer had stood. It was on the edge of this circle that Morgana was standing, glaring at him incredulously.

“We had to divide your magic your magic between seventeen sorcerers, just to contain it. But the spell it was for takes up masses of energy – by all rights, you should be at least unconscious. Anyone else would be dead.”

Merlin _was_ tired – and all of his limbs felt twice as heavy as normal – but he certainly didn’t feel like he should be dying. He chose to ignore her question and focus on one of his own.

“Why? What spell are you doing?”

Morgana’s face twisted into a sneer. “Do you really think I’m going to tell _you_ that?”

Sighing, Merlin returned to his original posture.

“I can’t wait to see Arthur’s face when he finds out.”

A clenching of fists, a tensing of muscles

“I’ve been thinking – I could give Arthur a sword and let him finish you off himself.” Morgana said thoughtfully.

“He wouldn’t” Merlin couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

“Excuse me?”

“He wouldn’t kill me.” Merlin said, words more forceful this time. He looked up at her. “Whatever it is you’ve told Mordred and those others, Arthur _is_ the Once and Future King, and you know it! You always said yourself Morgana – he’s a better man than his father, always was and always will be.”

For a moment, as Merlin glowered at her impassive face, he thought she wasn’t going to answer.

“Perhaps.”

Merlin’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“But his he what you say he is _yet_?”

Now it was Merlin’s turn to look impassive.

“He executed a young, impressionable Druid girl not two weeks ago, despite one of his most loyal knights begging him on his knees to spare her life! Rave on as much as you like about Arthur’s courage and kindness, the fact still remains that magic remains illegal here. Why wouldn’t he kill you?”

“Because I’m his friend.” The answer was automatic.

Morgana just laughed. “You’ve lied to him for more than _ten years_ , Merlin. Is that what a friend does? Forgive you for your magic, he may do, but your lies? And you released the Great Dragon, didn’t you? And it was you who hatched Aithusa, too.”

Merlin’s expression darkened “How do you know about that?”

But Morgana continued on regardless “And I’m really looking forward to telling him who it was who killed his father!”

An edge of panic seeped into Merlin’s face. “That – that was you, not me.”

“But it was you who dealt the killing blow, wasn’t it?” As more doubt started to ooze through Merlin’s façade, Morgana’s smile widened. “Face it, Merlin. Whether I win this or not, when Arthur finds out…you’re dead”

**\---0---**

Aithusa, being a young, small dragon, with little practice at roaring, could not yet match Kilgarrah for his deafening rumble. Yet her calls, when let loose, still went ricocheting through every street in the city, and echoed over the treetops. 

Mordred smiled. _The signal_. Already, the warning bell had started to ring.

The dark-haired boy muttered a single word, being careful to keep the magic under control, but the grille still landed several metres away, scorched and deformed.

Then, waving a hand, Mordred and two of his companions entered the castle.

**\---0---**

_Damn,_ thought Arthur, as he heard Aithusa’s roar, _they would choose now to start their attack, wouldn’t they_.

His throat still felt like it was on fire, but it didn’t seem to be getting any worse, so long as he was in the castle; but every time he went down to the walls to supervise the preparations, he found himself completely and utterly unable to speak a word – if he wasn’t so gifted at hand gestures, he was sure Camelot would have fallen on its own by now.

Standing on the parapet and watching Morgana’s dragon fly closer, an angry mass of Saxons streaming behind her, Arthur felt like doing a very rude hand gesture indeed, but contained himself, instead turning to the men behind him and doing a ‘defend-us-best-you-can-whilst-I-go-and-get-more-of-our-army’ sign, before running off, leaving the two guards with what he hoped were confident faces, and not very-confused-and-even-more-scared faces.

Arthur cursed inwardly again. They hadn’t expected Morgana to attack until tomorrow, so most of the knights was still in the centre of the city, training and preparing, though he saw more guards and soldiers marching past as he sprinted through the town; the army must have been closer than he thought–

Arthur froze, looked up at the castle walls, which were right in front of him, then opened his mouth, trying to say something.

But no sound came out. He could usually speak by this point.

The guards on the drawbridge into the courtyard were clutching their necks, and opening their mouths too, a panicked look on their faces, whilst the inside of the courtyard was milling with sudden activity.

Arthur drew his sword, face set, and started to run once more, past the shocked guards and into the courtyard, barely even noticing that his entire army was marching in the opposite direction, towards the walls.

Somehow, whatever it was that was affecting their voices had got inside the castle – and that was where Guinevere was.      

Arthur was halfway up the steps to the doors when a hand grabbed his sword arm, spinning him round, and Arthur’s face contorted into one of fury that someone would try to hinder his progress.

Elyan, Leon, Percival, Gwaine and Lancelot were standing at the bottom of the steps, staring up at him with concern, the courtyard behind them completely empty, with the frantic, far-away sounds of swords and battle cries resounding in their ears.

_What’s happened?_ Leon mouthed, frowning.

Arthur pointed at the doors with his sword. _They’re inside!_ He mouthed back, moving his mouth slowly to make sure they understood. At their general air of confusion, Arthur added angrily, _WITH GWEN!_

Elyan’s eyes widened and his lips parted in an angry sneer as he drew his own sword and ran up the steps to join Arthur, not caring that he didn’t know what danger they were facing. After little more than a second’s hesitation, the other knights followed them, and they powered through the doors.

In that mad, desperate run, all other thoughts faded into insignificance, everything shrunk in importance.

Which is why Arthur didn’t question that the knights, being a few metres away, could never have been close enough to grab his arm.

**\---0---**

_Morgana. It’s time._

The witch smiled as Mordred’s voice resonated through her mind, and, out of the corner of her eye, saw Merlin tense, as he heard it too.

“Well, well, Emrys.” smirked Morgana, oozing with satisfaction. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

And Morgana stepped forward, over the line, and into the circle.

**\---0---**

They headed first to Arthur and Gwen’s chambers, skidding to a halt outside the door, and banging it open, swords raised.

But there was no-one there.

_Where next?_ Gwaine mouthed when Arthur turned around.

At that moment a guard ran up, his lips forming words spoken too fast for Arthur to follow, though he did think he saw a word that looked an awful lot like _Queen_ …

Arthur gripped the man’s arms. _WHERE IS SHE!_ He enunciated.

After a moment of shock at the desperation he could see in the king’s face, the guard mouthed, quite clearly, _the throne room_.

They were running again, ignoring the terrified guards and servants that rushed, willy-nilly, through the halls.

The throne room doors. For some reason, they had never seemed so big before as they did on that day. Steeling himself for whatever lay inside, he shouldered his way through them, his First knights hot on his heels.

What they saw brought every last one of them to an abrupt halt.


	11. Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana, Arthur and Merlin in the same room...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Hi. Sorry about the wait. In fact, when I looked to see what chapter came up next, I felt so bad for taking so long, given that this is one of my favourite chapters that I've written.
> 
> Things to make you aware of: When I first wrote this on FF.net, I basically did a weird kind of competition where I asked people to send ideas as to how Camelot could fall. Unable to choose between them, I managed to put ALL of them in, somewhere. In fact, I am actually yet to put a few of them in, as I am saving them for the end. So be aware, some of these ideas were thought of by others.
> 
> Also, this chapter and all the ones after it were actually Beta'd by a friend of mine, so you may notice general betterness.
> 
> And finally...*squeeeeeeeeeeeee!* THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF THE REVEAL!!!!!!!!!!!! (I couldn't NOT include the last line)

Mordred didn’t need to look where he was going as he made his way through the castle; he knew it all like the back of his hand. He may not have lived in Camelot for as long as some others, but he, like all the knights, had made it his business to know every passage, every corridor; it could make all the difference when stopping an attack on Camelot.

Or starting one.

The trio of sorcerers didn’t meet many on their journey; most of the guards and soldiers were on the outskirts of the city, defending it from Aithusa and the Saxon army that was bearing down on Camelot. Even when they did meet someone, it took only a short, sharp burst of magic to dispose of them. It might have been a problem if any large numbers had materialised, but they couldn’t even call out as Mordred and his companions had passed. The warning bell was already ringing; no-one would know they were there until it was too late.

The three sorcerers clung to shadows as they crept towards a door at the end of the corridor – a lesser used entrance into the throne room.

Cautiously, Mordred pressed his hand against the wood, and pushed, tensing as it creaked on its hinges.

But there was only silence and echoes on the other side.

Their footsteps reverberated around the vast room as they walked in, Mordred with excitement, his two companions with trepidation upon sight of the imposing room. The room was, for the most part, dark, the torches on the wall being unlit, but light was streaming through the dozen odd stained glass windows opposite them, some of it the silver of moonlight, much of it the orange and red of fiercely burning fires.

“ _Geswælan_ ”

The torches flickered to life around the room, making the statues leer at Mordred in the dancing light cast by their flames as he walked to the thrones at the top of the room. The two others remained in the centre of the hall, staring around them with fear carefully masked as disdain.

Movements slow and careful, Mordred took hold of the pendent beneath his armour – a simple wooden circle with runes carved into it at its edge – and gently lifted the cord it was attached to over his head, placing it on the floor at his feet.  He stepped back quickly.

“ _Cíegan,_ _wegfór,_ _forþcuman_ ” A raised arm, a flash of gold.

The runes around the edge glowed, as if hot, and smoke started to rise from its centre. At first it was just a thin stream, but soon it grew thicker, until a pillar of black smoke was rising into the air in front of him, and Mordred’s ears were ringing.

After a few second the ringing faded, the black smog beginning to dissipate, leaving in its stead the figures of Morgana Pendragon, and, looking bone tired and like he was having difficulty standing, Merlin.

Then Merlin clapped eyes on Mordred. His shoulders lowered, his chin dipped, and his lip curled in a look filled with pure hatred. Mordred had committed the ultimate crime, next to killing Arthur.

He had _stolen_ Merlin’s magic. Taken it, and used it for himself. There was no going back for Mordred, or the others.

But before Merlin could speak a word, the sound of footsteps came from outside.

**\---0---**

Gwen and Gaius walked speedily behind the guard, casting concerned looks at one another as he led them towards the throne room. Gwen was no longer wearing her dress – It just wasn’t practical for fighting in, and fight she would; Camelot was as much her city as Arthur’s.

Though it had been difficult to know what the guard had been trying to tell them, it didn’t take them long to work out that he had seen three people creeping into the great hall. Gwen had never been one to sit back and let Arthur do everything for her, and had insisted on going herself, Gaius in tow.

They came to the doors and pushed them open. The room was empty, but the torches were lit and burning.

Gaius’ eyebrows raised, and Gwen looked at him anxiously, but they continued on into the hall, this time with the guard behind them.

“Stay where you are, or Merlin dies!”

They both jumped and spun around at the sound of the voice; it had been a while since they had heard anyone speak at all.

Between them and the door stood Morgana, smile playing across her face, Mordred by her side and a very haggard looking Merlin, kneeling on the ground and grasping at Mordred’s arm under his chin, which was forcing his head up, whilst a sword was pressed firmly against the exposed skin at his neck.

The guard, still at the door, bolted.

**\---0---**

Arthur tightened his grip on the hilt of Excalibur, his palms sweaty, as he digested the scene before him.

First, Gwen. She was being gripped across the shoulders by a man, the flat of his knife under her chin, and a defiant look on her features. A second man had Gaius backed against a pillar with his blade pointed at the rather disgruntled-looking old man’s chest.

Second, Morgana. She sat on his throne, a smug look plastered across her face, and, Arthur noted with resignation, Mordred standing by her and glaring at him.

Then, at last, the young King’s eye came to rest on the figure splayed on the floor, face down, not moving. Relief flooded through him as he detected a slight rise and fall of his servant’s chest. _Alive, at least_ he thought.

Behind him, he heard something akin to a growl come from Gwaine, but otherwise, his knights were completely silent, glancing at him as their leader, though Lancelot was more interested in staring between Merlin and Morgana.

“Nice of you to join us, brother!” Morgana’s voice sliced the air.

Arthur remained silent, though not through his own choice, and resisted the urge to at least try and say the blindingly obvious and completely ineffectual “Let them go” that usually sprung to mind on these occasions.

“Put down your swords,” she drawled. They didn’t move. “ _now._ ”

For the second time in two days, Arthur and his knights leant down and placed their blades on the floor, Arthur with his blue-eyed gaze never leaving Morgana’s cold, grey one.

The weapons, once on the ground, began to move. No force moved them, but the six swords ended their journey near enough to Mordred’s feet to be suggestive.

“Order a surrender, Arthur.”

This time, he doubted he would have said anything even if he could. Gwen shook her head at him.

“There is a guard behind you, all you need to do is give him a nod, and he will go and order the knights to stop fighting on your behalf, he will tell them that Camelot has fallen to me.” A quick glance confirmed what she said; the guard they had met earlier was indeed standing in the doorway, as paralyzed as they were.

It took only the small gasp that escaped Gwen’s lips as Morgana’s man pressed his knife closer against her throat to have Arthur nodding quickly at the guard, who ran off, only too eager to be gone. He knew what he was supposed to have done, he knew what his father would have done, but he also knew that there was no way he could have watched her die like that. Restless spirit or not, Uther would have killed him for this, if nothing else.

When the guard had gone, and the doors swung shut behind him, Morgana muttered some low, unintelligible words, before turning to whisper something to Mordred, and Arthur felt ropes, held by invisible fingers, drawing back his arms and fastening them there. From the grunts behind him, the knights appeared to be receiving the same treatment, and when Arthur felt a force against his legs, making them buckle, neither he nor his knights fought it as they found themselves kneeling on the floor. His jaw clenched. 

Merlin never stirred. _Typical of the idiot,_ Arthur thought, _lying down, doing nothing, as per usual._

Soon, however, signs of activity came from outside the room, and a few Saxons, along with several others, bedecked in black, walked in.

A silence so oppressive that it hurt his ears followed as this black clad group walked past, and Arthur knew that, along with Mordred and perhaps the two others, these were the source of the enchantment that had taken away their voices.

Morgana’s grin, if anything, got even wider. “My friends! You’re just in time!” she cried, before looking at Arthur once more “I told them they could be here when I took the throne from you, formally. Bring Geoffrey of Monmouth, and make sure he has the crown!” Some of the Saxons departed in search of him, whilst two more gripped him under the arms and pulled him forward, struggling furiously, until he knelt on the steps in front of Morgana, as his father had all those years ago.

Arthur took the chance, while they waited for the Saxons to return with Geoffrey, to take a peek at Merlin, who was sprawled nearby. The anger that had been simmering since he first walked into that throne room almost reached boiling point; they had collared him and chained him like he was some kind of _animal_. There was an ugly gash on one side of his head, presumably from the club that had knocked him out, and Arthur could still see blood matted into his hair and crusting around his ear. Other than that, he didn’t appear to have any physical injuries, but he was curled in on himself, his only movements being the odd twitch of his finger or his eyelid, like he was trying to wake up. Strange though it seemed to him now, Arthur had rarely ever seen him look so…helpless.

Morgana had noticed him looking at Merlin. “It’s a magically-induced sleep. He won’t wake up until I let him.”

Working hard not to let his fury get the better of him, Arthur raised a questioning eyebrow, its message clear. _Why?_

The Saxons chose that exact moment to arrive back, a terrified Geoffrey of Monmouth clutched between them and Arthur’s crown grasped in his shaking hands.

Morgana’s answer was short and to the point, but no less puzzling for it. “For protection.”

Geoffrey’s hands were now extended over Morgana’s head, a sword between his shoulder blades and Mordred’s hand on his arm, presumably allowing him to talk.

“I–” he stammered, before throwing a glance at Arthur. Arthur nodded slightly, face tense. “I d-dub thee, Morgana Pendragon, Queen of Camelot.”

Arthur watched, glowering, as the crown was lowered onto Morgana’s mass of black hair, until he felt a hand on his neck, pushing his head and upper body down.

“Bow to your Queen!” growled a voice in his ear.

It was only when he felt the blade of a knife press into his ribs that he complied.

**\---0---**

Merlin could see nothing but darkness, endless darkness, extending into the distance indefinitely, and felt Morgana’s magic keeping him there. He fought against her, but it was hard; there was no light, just the dark, no sensation, just the weight of black magic. Even sound was muffled, although somehow, he could hear some words seeping into his consciousness…

_…Morgana Pendragon, Queen of Camelot_.

Sharp, bright, ice-cold desperation filled his heart, and Merlin railed against her even more.

**\---0---**

The jubilant cry of “Long live the Queen!” was cut short as strangulated gasps escaped from seventeen mouths.

“Morgana…” Mordred huffed, eyes wide “He, he’s taking it _back_.”

Morgana didn’t at first answer him. She was gripping the arms of the throne, her eyes closed and her forehead creased. “It’s alright; I can keep him under.” Her eyes opened, the last of the gold vanishing, and she looked at Mordred “The magic has served its purpose – you can let it go now”

“But…the bind. Will it still work when he has…all of it?” No, Arthur wasn’t imagining it – Mordred sounded _scared_.

Morgana took his hand to reassure him. “The bind doesn’t work like that, he _cannot_ break free of it – We’re perfectly safe from his magic.” Arthur’s heart panged at the sight of her being so tender with him – how many years had it been since he last heard her talk like that?

With a terse look around the room at the sixteen others, all of whom were looking absolutely terrified, Mordred relaxed, the others following suit.

The effect was instantaneous.

It felt like a terrible weight had been lifted from him, though Arthur’s shoulders were still being forced down in a bow. The horrible burning in his throat vanished, and he sucked in air, grateful for the first pain free breath he had taken in some time. Somewhere behind him, Gwen, Gaius and the knights were experiencing similar things, and even Merlin seemed to be reacting to the release of the spell; though he remained asleep, he bucked, head tipping back and fingers clenching, before slumping once more.

“S-see?” Morgana said, a little shakily, Arthur noted. “Perfectly fine!” She stood, and waving a hand at the Saxons, shouted “Take them all to the cells!”

Arthur frowned in surprise as he felt hands hoist him to his feet and spin him round, before pulling him over to the other knights, who looked just as bewildered as he was. They’d expected her to do something to them, or to Arthur at least. Gwen, too, looked puzzled, but Gaius’ face was filled with desperation.

That was when Arthur noticed; no-one was bringing Merlin over.

He struggled free of the hands that held him. “Is that it, Morgana? You take the crown, and then send us to our rooms like naughty children?”

Morgana, who had been talking with a Saxon, turned to face him. “For now, brother. I have some old scores to settle.” Her voice was calm and placid.

“With who?” A little of Arthur’s arrogance slipped through. “If there was anyone you wanted to torment, I’d have thought it was me”

Morgana’s evil smirks got more sinister every time she did them, but this one was a slow one. It slid across her features like a snake, and she cast an excited glance in Mordred’s direction.

“Arthur, just leave it” To their surprise, it was Lancelot who spoke. He was staring at Arthur, face grim.

Arthur’s attention snapped back to Morgana as she spoke. “There is a warlock. A very powerful warlock, who spends his life trying to destroy mine. He holds such power that he could raze Camelot to the ground without a moment’s thought.” she walked over to Arthur slowly. “There are those who even say he is to be my doom.”

Arthur spotted a way to turn this to his advantage. “Then…perhaps we have a common enemy. I do not hate you, Morgana. I have never hated you. If we could join forces, then perhaps we could, together, bring this sorcerer down. Rid the world of his power.”

You could have cut the silence that fell with a knife. Puzzled, Arthur frowned and looked at the inhabitants of the room; those on Morgana’s side were ogling at him, completely taken aback at his words. Those on his side were mostly looking as confused as he was, but, of course, there were two exceptions.

Gaius and Lancelot were staring at him, their faces the epitome of abject dismay.

“Hmm…” Morgana said, though she looked and sounded gleeful. “You know, I might have to take you up on that offer, just to see the look on his face!” She glanced at the sorcerers behind her. “I bet you never thought you’d see the day when Arthur Pendragon offered to help me bring down Emrys?”

“Emrys?” Arthur paled.

Mordred raised an eyebrow. “You know that name?”

Arthur gave a terse nod. “I’ve heard it.”

The Druid glanced over at Morgana, but continued to address the fair-haired king. “Do you know anything about him?”

“A little. I know that he is your enemy. And…” he swallowed, shame tingeing his next words. “and that he is a friend to Camelot.”      

Morgana gave out a high, freakish laugh. “Well _that’s_ the understatement of the year!”

Arthur was really getting tired of Morgana’s smirks now; her face seemed to be set permanently in a sinister grin. But as she walked closer and closer to him, the lurid smile faded, the lines around her eyes hardening.

Arthur couldn’t help it – he stepped back, but not in time to dodge the hand that went whistling towards his face. His head snapped to the side, and to make matters worse, the guards grabbed him once more to stop him trying to move.

Morgana’s whole being was seething. “Emrys _may_ be my enemy, but even I won’t tell him what you just said – I think it might just break his heart, after _everything_ he had done for you, everything he has _suffered_ for you,” she looked at him with disgust, “and everything _you_ have done to _him_. He betrayed his own kind for you, killed for you, watched his loved ones die for you, and his loyalty never wavered. Even he doesn’t deserve to hear you say you want to kill him.”

“I don’t even know who he is!” Arthur cried.

“No, you don’t,” Morgana drawled, “but Gaius does. And from the look on his face, I would hazard a guess that Lancelot does too. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised – I’ve always wondered how you killed that griffin, when only a weapon imbued with magic can pierce its hide.”

Arthur, the knights and Gwen all stared at Gaius and Lancelot, Arthur in resignation – _well it would be those two, wouldn’t it._ he thought – and the rest in shock.

“Well, why did you think I kidnapped Gaius?” Morgana said in disbelief.

Arthur was seeing the physician in an entirely new light. “He told us you wanted information that would help bring down the kingdom”

Gaius locked eyes with Arthur. “What I told you was the truth. But I said more to you than that. I beg of you, Arthur, keep in mind what I told you then – I think the day I spoke of has come.”

_I’m not the only one seeking to protect you. There are many more. One day, you will understand just how much they’ve done for you_.

Morgana snorted. “And I bet they think you didn’t talk, either?”

Gaius glared at her. “Well, you didn’t find out. Alator may not be my favourite person in the world–”

“He tortured you!”

“–but we are all indebted to him for his loyalty to Emrys.”

Yet another cruel smile. “And unlike you, he took the secret to his grave.”

Gaius, for a moment, looked almost ashamed. “Then he was a stronger man than I.” He turned his death stare on Mordred. “And now, it seems, his sacrifice was in vain.”  

Mordred didn’t react.

“I don’t care that Gaius lied to me.” They turned to Arthur in surprise. “Gaius was never afraid to keep secrets from me, or my father, but I know he always did it in our best interests. If Gaius believed I shouldn’t know, then I shouldn’t have known.”

Arthur only glanced at Gaius’ face after this speech, but in that glance he saw all he needed to see – Pride.

Morgana nodded, as if digesting this. “So, then…you don’t want to know the identity of Emrys?”

Arthur frowned. “Identity? He’s a sorcerer. I’ve never met him before. You’ve already told me – his name is Emrys.”

“Emrys is the name given to him by the Druids” Mordred broke in. “They practically worship him for his power, but that is not the name he was born with. Those who know him call him by a different name, and yes,” he gave a knowing smile. “you most _definitely_ know him.”

The entire room was motionless – the sorcerers were immobile, eyes flicking between each figure. Gaius and Lancelot were tensing every muscle of their bodies and the knights were looking generally confused. But of the people tied up in the centre of the room, there was one with an expression of complete and utter shock and incomprehension.

Gwen. She was staring, eyes wide, between Arthur and Merlin.

Arthur’s mouth was dry, and he briefly wondered if the spell had started working again. “I would never hurt a friend of Camelot.”

Another raised eyebrow was sent in his direction. “I presume you know you were conceived with magic, now?”

The young King nodded without hesitating. Over the years, he had come to terms with the fact that his father had lied to him. It was the sort of thing he’d do. When Merlin had convinced him that day, he’d never actually said anything that proved what Morgause said was incorrect, and it had seemed the only explanation of his father’s actions. Merlin’s words, instead of convincing him of Uther’s innocence, had served more to mollify his anger.

“When you were born, Uther began a reign of terror that crippled families and destroyed cultures and dynasties that had existed for centuries” Morgana had come very close to Arthur. “Emrys’ people were one such culture. Of that once mighty, noble race, only Emrys’ father escaped. And even when he fled the kingdom, Uther still sought him, still _hunted_ him.” Mock sympathy twisted her face. “He never even knew he had a son. And poor, poor Emrys grew up without a father, with no way of understanding why he could do what he did, or how to control the magic he was _born with_. He was forced to spend his whole life disguising his true nature from everybody he knew, on pain of death, despite possessing a power that could have destroyed them all.”

Arthur shook his head, ignoring Gwaine’s wide-eyed gasp. “I still don’t know who you’re talking about!”

But Morgana continued, waving her arms and pacing. “And then, of course, the villagers started to get suspicious of his gifts!” she paused, casting a small smile in Arthur’s direction. “His mother had no choice but to send him to Camelot.” She tilted her head on the side.

Arthur froze.

“A young boy, who never knew his father, sent away from his home village by his worried mother.”

_“Why did you leave?”_

_“I just didn’t fit in anymore. I wanted to find somewhere I did.”_

“A close friend to both Gaius and Lancelot, he has always been at your side, defending you and fighting for you.”

_“I’ll be by your side, like I always am, protecting you.”_

“And never, ever, losing faith.”

_“I have faith in your destiny, Arthur. One day, you will be the greatest king Camelot has ever known.”_

“His name? – Merlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! This scene at the end of this chapter was my reason for writing it in the first place! (along with a few others later...)


	12. Blind Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAGGGHHHHH. THIS CHAPTER REALLY EXCITES ME.
> 
> Its ten pages long. Ten pages. I wrote it in about two days over a half term when I should have been doing English homework. I went a bit insane.
> 
> Welcome to the Let's-make-Arthur-feel-guilty-fest!

**Chapter 12: Blind Trust**

“You’re lying.” Arthur was surprised by the strength of his own voice. “You must be. Merlin can’t, he just _can’t_ , have magic.”

“Arthur,” the sympathy in Lancelot’s voice was sickening, “believe me, it’s the truth. But he’s still your friend!”

Arthur chose to ignore him entirely.

“I assure you, Arthur, I am not lying.”

“Then you’re wrong. You’ve made a mistake, because there is no way that _Merlin_ is a sorcerer!” In Arthur’s desperate convictions, he forgot how he had spoken those words little more than a month after he and Merlin had first met.

Mordred’s eyebrow rose quizzically. “Really? Then perhaps you’d be interested to know that the magic used to cast the silencing spell was drawn from Merlin.”

Arthur almost laughed. The idea of drawing magic from Merlin was insane.

The corner of Morgana’s lips twitched. “But I’m sure you’d like to hear it from his own mouth, wouldn’t you, Arthur?”  She waved a hand at the soldiers, some of whom started to move towards Merlin, who was still curled on the floor.

Gaius became suddenly very still. “Morgana…” he said, in a low, warning voice. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t touch him!” Gwaine shouted, struggling forwards only to be grabbed by a Saxon before he could move more than a couple of paces. Frantic, his gaze switched to Arthur “Arthur, do something!”

But Arthur didn’t move. He didn’t even look at Gwaine, just kept his gaze fixed stolidly on Merlin, Merlin the _sorcerer’s_ drooping form. There was no way he could equate that description of him with the boy he knew. Sorcerers were evil. Merlin wasn’t. It was as simple as that. Yet somehow, Arthur didn’t think he could have moved even if he’d tried.

Gwaine’s face was no longer desperate – it was bursting with anger. “Why does it matter that he has magic?!” He twisted to look at the knights, who stood there, indecisive and shocked. “He’s still the same person, and one _hell_ of a better man than _any_ of you! His kind has been _hunted_ by the likes of us, and he still stood by you! And now you’re going to stand there and watch him get _tortured_ for it!”

At those last words, Gwaine’s energy failed, and the Saxons finally succeeded in dragging him to the ground, until he was little more than a slumped heap on the floor.

Over by Merlin, the guards were lifting his unconscious form off the ground and fastening his arms behind his back.

Lancelot gave a slight intake of breath as the Saxons gripped Merlin’s shoulders. His eyes were, if anything, filled with even more emotion than Gwaine’s, but his face was one of carefully constructed composure. His feet, which were shoulder-width apart for stability, with his right foot slightly more forward than the left, were the only other sign of his uneasiness.

“Morgana, hurting Merlin is a bad idea and you _know it_!” Only at the end of the sentence did Lancelot’s voice betray the anxiety he was concealing.

Morgana tossed an exaggerated look of confusion at Lancelot. “Oh! I’m not going to hurt him!”

Even Arthur blinked in surprise at her statement.

Reaching down, Morgana pulled a strip of cloth from her belt, and passed it to Mordred.

“Restrain them.” she ordered the soldiers. A pause. “And take off their armour – it might clank. Besides, they won’t be needing it now.”

Arthur heard the same voice as earlier, oddly familiar when he thought about it, his sharply into his ear. “ _Kneel_.”

Movements careful so as not to provoke the men holding him, he lowered himself to the ground. Fingers tugged at the straps fixing his breast and shoulder plates to him, and their hands momentarily shifted from his shoulders as they lifted the metal over his head, before starting work on his vambraces and gauntlets. His chainmail was the only piece they didn’t remove – it would have meant untying his hands, something they weren’t quite prepared to do. Arthur allowed himself a feeling of satisfaction that his reputation was enough to make them worried he could overpower three men whilst unarmed.

When the guards had finished, Morgana nodded to someone out of sight.

Arthur felt a handful of his hair being gripped in a large fist, jerking his head back and leaving his neck exposed for a knife to be pressed against it.

Morgana’s eyes glittered as she bent down so that her face was on his level. “You will no doubt _want_ to hear this, but if you make so much as a sound, my friend here will slit your throat most readily. I believe you met him yesterday, in the forest?”

The hand jolted his head back painfully in acknowledgment of her words, and Arthur’s face drained of what little colour had been remaining. The Saxon man, who had been prepared to kill a child to save his own skin.

Then Merlin was dragged forward, blindfolded and still unconscious, and all thought of his captor vanished from Arthur’s mind.

**\---0---**

Had she not been tied up and kneeling on the floor of her own castle with a sword being pointed at her, Gwen would have been pacing up and down madly and wringing her hands as she processed everything she had just found out. There was a small part of her telling her to be worried about how clumsy the guard threatening her seemed to be, but she was far too busy thinking over every conversation she and Merlin had ever had, everything she had ever seen him do, to be concerned that she might get accidentally impaled at any moment.

_“Believe me, Gwen, I’m not ordinary.”_

_But_ , Gwen reminded herself, _that’s not important right now._ She knew full well that it was Arthur that this was really about. What she knew of Merlin’s secret was nothing, not when Arthur had discovered that his best friend had been lying to him for the past ten years.

Gwen studied Arthur’s expression carefully. The predominant emotion on his face seemed to be…nothing. He was in shock, clearly. But behind that, there was something more, she knew; he, like her, wanted to know what Morgana had meant when she talked of what Merlin had suffered for him. And though she knew Arthur would not be ready to admit it for a long time yet, he wanted to know because Merlin was his friend, and the thought of his friend suffering _because of him_ was unbearable to think of. Merlin’s betrayal, if he really did have magic, was nothing in comparison.

Merlin’s head lolled forward on his neck. He had been manoeuvred so that he was, like them, on his knees, but he had to be propped up by one of Morgana’s men. The piece of cloth around his eyes was black, like his raven hair.

Morgana gave a nod to the various sorcerers around the room, who braced themselves as if for an attack, some even flexing their fingers. _They’re scared of him,_ Gwen realised with astonishment.

Morgana’s eyes flashed. “Merlin. Merlin, wake up.”

The boy stirred, and juddered suddenly as he awoke, groaning quietly. His arms shifted as he realised they were tied, and Gwen watched his forehead crinkle slightly with confusion. He shook his head once, twice, before slurring, “Morgana, have you blindfolded me?”

Gwen couldn’t help but smile at the confidence in his voice.

Morgana threw an excited glance at Arthur. No doubt there would be a few more of those before the end of the evening. “Yes, I have.”

“Why?” scoffed Merlin

“Well, my friends here are a little scared of you. They know how dangerous you are.”

The sorcerers shuffled a little and cast uneasy glances at one another.

To their complete and utter surprise, Merlin smiled and blew air out of his nose in a silent laugh. “What makes you think a blindfold will help with that?”

Gwen watched as Arthur’s breathing got faster.

Merlin’s head tilted to the side, and he frowned again. “…Camelot. We were in Camelot.” What could be seen of his face filled with sudden urgency and he lurched forward. “Where’s Arthur? What have you done to him?” The guard dragged Merlin back by the chain that was still fastened behind his neck, and the boy growled slightly in anger.

“I haven’t done anything to Arthur.”

Merlin shook his head. “If you’re lying to me, Morgana…”

“I’m not.” Morgana said calmly.

There was a prolonged silence. “Have you…” Merlin’s voice sounded husky. “…said anything?”

For the first time that evening, Gwen saw a little doubt start to creep into Arthur’s eyes.

“Not yet. I thought he should hear it from you.”

Whatever signs of relief Merlin had shown at her first words were immediately cancelled out as his hackles rose. “Morgana, _where_ is Arthur?”

“In the cells.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“So why am I blindfolded?”

Another smile slipped onto Gwen’s face as she recalled all the times Arthur had called Merlin an idiot. Wrongfully, it seemed.

Morgana scowled at him. “What right have you to ask _me_ questions? You are a traitor, guilty of murdering your own kind in defence of Uther and his son. You turned your back on those who needed you most, even going so far as to _betray_ your fellow magic-users to Arthur!” Here Mordred clenched his fists. She leaned in close to him. “What right have _you_ to say anything?”

Arthur’s eyes were wide, but Merlin remained silent. Not an acceptance of her words, but not a denial, either.

Perhaps she was imagining it, perhaps not, but all the same, it seemed there was a slight droop to Merlin’s shoulders, his chin maybe a little bit closer to his chest.

Still leaning in close to Merlin, Morgana smiled once more. “Now _I’m_ going to be asking the questions.” She straightened. “First – why are you so loyal to Arthur?”

He raised his head, as if to look at her. “You sound a lot like Morgause. She asked me the same thing when she tried to kill me, you know.”

Morgana stiffened, her eyes hardening at the mention of her sister. “As did I when I had you imprisoned in my hut.”

“I never answered either of you. But you know the truth, now.” Merlin shook his head. “So why ask me again?”

Morgana started to pace slowly in front of Merlin. “Because I’m not talking about your magic. I’m not talking about the fact that you are Emrys, the foretold protector of the Once and Future King, who you seem to believe is Arthur.” Morgana paused, and fixed her gaze on the face of the young King. “How about we start with your father, Merlin?”

Gwen saw Arthur frown in concern and look at his servant. They all knew that Merlin’s father was a difficult subject for the boy.

Merlin was frozen. “What about him?”

“He died, didn’t he?”

The warlock hesitated. “Yes.”

“You only got to meet him once. He knew you were his son for just a few hours, before he sacrificed his life to save you. You held him in your arms as his last breath left him–”

“–How do you know all this?!–”

“–And then you had to bury him, your father, as you might have done some day if he had lived his life with you and your mother.” An artificial frown of pity creased her features. “But not so soon. Never that soon. And you would have known him, too; truly known him, for what he could have been to you – a guide, through all that you went through with your magic. Instead, he lies dead, somewhere many miles from anyone who has ever loved him, his grave unmarked because of the magic he possessed. You weren’t even able to mourn him, were you?”

Merlin shook his head again; his voice was restrained, though a slight tremor could still be heard. “I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

“Uther hunted your father down in the Great Purge. If not for Arthur’s birth, you could have grown up with your father. He could have taught you the customs of your people, you wouldn’t be the very last of your kind. You could have lived in peace, free from persecution!”

Gwen could see Arthur’s inner turmoil raging across his face as he watched his servant, his lips pressed tightly together to prevent himself from speaking.

But despite it all, a rueful smile gathered at the corner of Merlin’s mouth. “I’m afraid, Morgana, you can’t use that against me. My father met my mother whilst on the run from Uther.” He shrugged. “Without Arthur’s birth, I’d never have been born. Besides, what do you want me to do? Blame him for existing? Blame him for Uther’s mistakes? It’s not Arthur’s fault.”

Morgana gave a frustrated sigh, and closed her eyes. After a moment, she opened them, turning back towards Merlin with a satisfied smirk. “Perhaps you are right. It isn’t Arthur’s fault you were separated from your father.” Morgana knelt down in front of the warlock and whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “ _But what about Freya?_ ”

Gwen looked at Arthur, and saw an equal amount of puzzlement there. The revelations about Merlin’s father were one thing – he had always been tight-lipped about that. But who was Freya?

A movement close by caught her eye, and she glanced at Gaius and Lancelot. They both had expressions of horror plastered across their faces, and Lancelot was shaking his head from side to side, his lips forming a silent entreaty; _Please, no…_

Merlin lifted his head again, except this time, with Morgana on his level, he only needed to look straight ahead. Gwen would almost have thought he could see her, so intently was he focused on the smirking witch in front of him.

“Stop, Morgana.” he whispered. “ _Please._ Not her.”

“A poor, young girl, cast out of every home she’d ever had, and about to be sold to Uther as fuel for his pyre…” Morgana tilted her head to the side. “That has to be one of the few times you ever saved a magic-users life by going against the King, when you broke her out of the bounty hunter’s cage.” Morgana threw her head back and laughed. “Of course, you would go and fall in love with her, wouldn’t you!”

Arthur tensed in surprise. Merlin had started to tremble. Morgana stood up and stepped forward, placing her hand against the side of Merlin’s face and making him flinch.

“And oh, how it must have hurt when it was over, Merlin! How your heart must have ached when she died! A slow death, from a sword wound too deep for even you to heal.” With a sad sigh, she glanced at Arthur. “Just think of it; the woman you loved murdered by your best friend, the man you had sworn to protect with your life. Even you cannot deny Arthur’s part in this, Merlin.”

The shock in the room was palpable. Gwen felt like she’d been slapped in the face, but it was Arthur she was fixed on. His mouth hung open, and he was staring at Merlin like he’d grown another head.

Merlin had no knowledge of this, however. A single tear had escaped the blindfold, and was running down his cheek, unchecked, as he whispered hoarsely. “She – she was cursed.”

“Not by choice. She couldn’t help what she was doing.”

“He didn’t know that.”

Morgana scoffed. “She stood in front of him and _begged_ to be spared! She screamed as she transformed! She was just a _girl_ , and he killed her!”

They had to strain to hear his next words. “She was killing people. We might not have got rid of the curse in time, she might have killed again.”

“Yes, but would she really?” Morgana said, narrowing her eyes at him.

Behind him, Merlin’s fists clenched. “Yes.”

Morgana chuckled. “Now now, Merlin, you know better than anyone the strength that love holds. That girl, who had been shunned and unloved for so many years found it once more in you. Even in Bastet form she recognised you, she didn’t hurt you when you got close. You tamed her. She need never have killed again, so long as she was with you.”

Merlin said nothing, just sat there in stunned silence, shuddering with pent-up emotion. “Stop it.” he muttered after a moment.

“So you dressed her in the clothes of a princess, and carried her out of the city–”

“Just stop it, Morgana” Merlin was hunched, now, bent double

“–As she died, she thanked you for your kindness, and promised to repay you–”

Merlin’s voice grew stronger. “Stop it!”

“–Perhaps Arthur knew, deep down, that you intended to leave with her. Perhaps that’s why he killed her–”

“JUST STOP IT!”

It took every ounce of strength Gwen had not to cry out as Merlin’s frantic, pain-filled voice ripped through her mind. Merlin lay, forehead pressed to the ground and shoulders heaving as he sobbed, muttering under his breath.

It was a few moments before they could discern what he was saying. “ _I’m sorry Freya, I’m so sorry._ ”

The entire room was silent and motionless, watching the weeping boy in the centre.

“Merlin”

He stopped muttering, but otherwise continued as he was.

“The same fate awaits you as did them. Arthur is his father’s son, and to him, you are nothing but a servant. When Arthur finds out about this, you will die, and lie, as your father did, in an unmarked grave, and as every other magic-user does, as Arthur and his father have decreed. Arthur will kill you.”

Arthur tried to move his head, but the Saxon held on tighter, pressing the knife hard enough that it almost drew blood.

“I – I know he will” said Merlin, quietly.

Arthur closed his eyes tight shut, as if in pain.

“But that doesn’t matter. I will serve him till the day I die, however soon that day may come, and whoever it is who is ending my life.”

It was not lost on Gwen that Merlin seemed to have ruled out the possibility of dying peacefully.

Morgana nodded, sighing. “I would expect nothing less from you, Merlin.” Then she turned, and raised an eyebrow imperiously at Arthur. “What do you think? Should we tell him?”

Merlin immediately shook his head. “Not yet! _Please_ , just…give me more time!”, but Gwen knew she wasn’t talking to Merlin anymore.

_Is this what it felt like?_ Gwen thought, _To know a secret this devastating, and to be this scared of it being revealed?_ Gwen wanted Merlin to know that they knew. She wanted to be able to tell him that even if Arthur did turn against him, she never would, she didn’t care about his magic. But at the same time, she didn’t want to see the fear on his face as he looked at them, his friends. She didn’t want it to be like this.

Morgana motioned with her hand, and said “Take the blindfold off, and untie his hands”, before winking at them, and pressing her finger to her lips, drawing the finger of her other hand across her throat.

Gwen’s heart dropped down to her feet, and she threw furious daggers at Morgana with her eyes. They still weren’t allowed to talk.

**\---0---**

It took a moment after the blindfold was removed for Merlin’s eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. It may have been night outside, but the Great Hall was filled with light, and he sat there for a few seconds, blinking rapidly to clear his vision and stretching his shoulders, since his hands were now free.

Then his eyes adjusted, and he looked up.

It was a long time before any emotion at all except complete blankness crossed his face. Morgana was positioned in front of him, the others to his right, and Arthur to his left. His head swivelled between them several times before understanding seeped through, and his breathing got faster.

Merlin stared up at Morgana in alarm.

“That’s right, Emrys.” Morgana drawled. “Your lord and master’s here.”

Merlin was now completely focused on Arthur. “I - I wasn’t…” he stammered, staring at Arthur with his eyes wide. “I didn’t actually…”

“I think perhaps a little demonstration is called for!” cried Morgana, sweeping round so that she was standing directly behind Merlin, whose gaze never left Arthur.

Arthur was still desperately trying to communicate with his servant with his eyes when he felt the knife vanish from his neck, and was dragged to his feet, before those holding him stepped back and he was left alone.

“Who fancies taking a shot at the great Arthur Pendragon?”

“ _No_!” Merlin started to stand up, but Morgana pushed him down again, before placing her hands against the collar on Merlin’s neck.

The Saxon from the forest came into Arthur’s line of vision, a flick knife held lightly in his fingers, and came to stand opposite Arthur, just next to where the knights and Gwen and Gaius knelt. He raised the knife.

“ _Forlætan._ ” Morgana said.

Merlin gasped.

The Saxon let loose the blade–

–which slowed to a stop, several inches from Arthur’s chest.

Merlin stood, arm outstretched towards his king, the last of the gold fading from his eyes and his breathing heavy. Runes on the collar around his neck were glowing a bright orange as he stood there.

Two knives appeared this time, one headed for Arthur, another towards the knights, but both were stopped before they got anywhere near their targets.

“All right then, how about this?” Mordred smirked. “ _Metgian_.”

The knight’s swords, still on the ground, rose up into the air. Only Excalibur stayed where it was. The five blades flew in different directions, two towards Arthur, one at Gwen, one at Lancelot, and the last towards Merlin. Each and every one of them slowed to a halt simultaneously.

But Mordred wasn’t looking – he was frowning at Excalibur. “Why didn’t it work on this one?”

“ _Don’t touch that!_ ” Merlin growled at Mordred. There was more loathing in the glare that Merlin fixed on Mordred than Arthur had ever seen on the servant’s face.

Mordred looked questioningly at Merlin, and picked up the sword by its hilt.

“Aagh!” he gasped, dropping it as if burned, and glowering at Merlin, whose eyes reverted back to blue.

Merlin took a deep, controlled breath. “That sword was forged in the breath of the Great Dragon for Arthur’s hand, and Arthur’s alone. It holds more power than you know, but only he can truly wield its power. Magic has no effect on it.”

Arthur’s mouth dropped open.

“Your magic does.” Morgana said curiously. “And you can wield it – you used that to destroy the immortal army, you had it with you when you killed my sister.”

Arthur’s mouth, if anything, got wider.

Merlin threw an uncomfortable glance in the King’s direction. “It was I who had it forged. I am one of its guardians, it was my hand that held it first when it emerged from the flames, and it was I who placed it in the stone to wait until Arthur could claim it for his own. Besides,” Merlin shrugged, “Kilgarrah is my kin – our magic is bound together.”

“Well,” Mordred said, drawing his sword from its sheath. “You’re not the only one with an immortal weapon, except this time, it’s you who can’t use magic on it.” And he stepped purposefully towards Arthur.

The various swords and knives, still suspended in the air around them began to shake and glow with burning heat as Merlin’s face grew dark with anger, his voice deepening. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mordred.”

Mordred just grinned and stepped between the trembling blades, which were now vibrating so fast that they were making a high-pitched ringing sound.

“Mordred, _don’t_.”

Mordred now stood in front of Arthur, whose chin was raised high as he looked intently into Mordred’s face. Mordred pulled back the sword, readying to plunge it into Arthur’s chest.

“I said, _NO!_ ”

Mordred’s eyes widened as an invisible force jerked him back. He was thrown several metres across the Great Hall until he landed with a thump on the floor, his sword scraping to a rest a short way away.

But no sooner had the words left Merlin’s mouth than an agonised cry followed them, and the quivering weapons fell to the ground clattering. Merlin had sunk to his knees, Morgana’s hands pressed once more to the collar around his neck.

She rolled her eyes. “How many _times_ , Merlin, just let it go, and it will stop hurting!”

Lancelot recovered from the shock first. “Let him go Morgana! _Oof!_ ” He groaned as a fist was plunged into his stomach.

Merlin’s fingers were clenched into fists, his knuckles white and pressed against the floor. His arms were juddering with the effort of keeping himself up, but Merlin was shaking his head. “…Arthur!” he choked out.

Morgana sighed. “Fine, we’ll stop trying to kill Arthur!”

With a gasp of relief, he let go, his head dropping forward and his arms straightening as he panted in great lungful’s of air.

Arthur was staring so fixedly at his closest friend, that he didn’t notice when Morgana stepped up beside him.

“There is a lot about this that I find hard to believe.” Morgana said, eyes smouldering as she glared at Arthur. “Like how you could single-handedly try so hard to destroy the life of one who is so loyal to you, or how he could remain so loyal, with everything he has seen you do. But if there was one thing I could find hardest to believe, it is this;” her lips curled in a sneer of disgust. “that a man like you could be so _arrogant_ as to take the greatest warlock that has ever lived, and make him into his _servant_.”

Arthur didn’t fight when someone started to pull him out of the room. He didn’t see the others being hoisted to their feet and dragged out with him. The passages they walked through faded and meant nothing, and the sight of unfamiliar soldiers walking calmly through his halls elicited nothing but a glance. It was only when he realised that Merlin wasn’t with them that he started to struggle.


	13. Of Bargains and Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst the others try to process their discovery, Merlin is making a terrible deal...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! This chapter is probably one of the most important, plot wise, so pay attention.
> 
> Also, enjoy the last bit; I just really needed Mordred to get some stuff off his chest ;)
> 
> Review! Kudos! Bookmark! Subscribe!

Chapter 13: Of Bargains and Reflections

Merlin kept his head down as the others were ushered from the room. He didn’t want to look at them – didn’t want to see the disgust, the fear, the hatred at what he was. But it didn’t make his heart ache less as he watched Arthur’s feet disappear without even putting up a fight.

So he looked at the floor, and listened as the doors slammed shut behind his friends.

It didn’t help that the only thing he could seem to think about was that they knew. After so long, more than ten years of seeing him as just Merlin, Merlin the servant, Merlin the clumsy, Merlin the friend, they were going to see him differently – Merlin the warlock, the traitor, the keeper of secrets, the teller of lies. Why didn’t that feel wrong? He was numb, unable to think. Was it really all over?

_I didn’t want it to happen like this_ , he thought, _I wanted to be able to explain. But it’s too late now._

Morgana’s feet came into view, and he felt a hand under his chin, raising his head. “It must feel strange, Merlin, to think of them knowing you for who you really are.”

Morgana’s eyes glimmered with amusement as she smiled on the despondent warlock.

Merlin ignored her words, focusing instead on a question of his own. “How did you know? About my father? About…her?”

In answer, Morgana let her fingers glide down his neck until they gripped the metal collar. “The bind serves many purposes; it cuts you off from your magic and it can be used to draw magic from you. But it also allows me to catch glimpses of your memories; the stronger your emotions over them, the easier it is. Freya and your father were ripe for the picking.”

Merlin shuddered at the thought, longing to get the collar off even more.

“Mind you, without consent, they are merely glimpses; snapshots of the past, nothing more.”

Releasing her hold on the collar, Morgana turned and walked towards the throne, seating herself while Merlin eyed her warily.

“So what now?” he asked.

She watched him for a moment, as if considering. “Well, now I make you pay. Pay for poisoning me, pay for destroying my plans, pay for killing my sister, and Agravaine. Now I make you rue the day you ever decided to stand against me, and every other member of your kind.”

Merlin nodded. He’d expected nothing less. “And then?”

Morgana smiled. “Then Arthur, of course.”

Merlin’s fingers flexed agitatedly as he forced down a wave of panic at her words. “Morgana, _please_. I cannot let you hurt him! You can do anything you like to me, just leave him, leave all of them alone!”

She laughed. “But I can already do as I like! You are powerless, and have nothing to offer in return for their lives!”

“But you don’t need them!” he cried, fighting to keep his voice clear of the desperation he was feeling. “You have _me_ now. _I’m_ your doom, not them. You can let them go; they don’t pose a threat to you while you have me.”

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t make me hate them any less.”

Merlin pressed his palms to his forehead, still kneeling on the ground. After a frantic second of trying to get his breathing under control, a resigned calm descended on him, and he lowered his hands so that they rested on his knees, fixing his eyes on a point somewhere on the floor in front of him as he spoke. “I beg of you, Morgana. I will do anything, anything, to spare him, to spare them. Just…please.”

A pause. Merlin forced himself to keep his head bowed. “Anything?” she said eventually.

He nodded, silently resisting the urge to tug at the collar again. He knew what she was going to ask.

Merlin felt, rather than saw, Morgana rise from the throne and walk down the steps towards him. A few metres away, she stopped. “Then I ask for your consent.”

Merlin pretended not to know what she was talking about. “My consent to what?”

“Your consent to use your memories.”

Merlin knew he would regret trying to delay the inevitable, but continued anyway. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Morgana slapped him hard across the face, sending Merlin reeling. “Don’t play dumb, Merlin! It may have worked for you before, but not anymore!” she drew in a shaky breath, controlling her anger, before resuming. “I want your consent to use the bind to gain access to your mind and memories _and_ ,” she paused significantly, “to use it to perhaps…add some things of my own choosing.”

He couldn’t resist it anymore; he looked up, regarding her cagily. “Like what?”

Another smirk, another raised eyebrow. “Does that matter?”

No, it didn’t. It really didn’t, not if it spared them. Taking his silence for what it was, Morgana nodded, and reached down. Merlin couldn’t stop himself from flinching as she placed her hands against the metal.

“Do you, Emrys, give your consent to the terms that I state?”

The words sprung to his lips immediately. “I, Emrys, give freely my consent to the terms of our agreement.”

As they had before, the invisible runes on the collar glowed, and Merlin winced at the burning sensation that lingered on his skin.

Morgana knelt down in front of him, using the grip she had on his neck to draw him closer. “Well, now that that’s over, we can focus on the first part of this evening.” Merlin steeled himself for what he knew was coming. “Making you pay. _Getemian_.”

Then Morgana’s eyes flashed gold, and Merlin gasped.

**\---0---**

Having been removed from the throne room, Arthur, Gwen Gaius and the knights had been promptly deposited into the largest cell that Camelot had, still in their chainmail. It could have been an accident, a coincidence that they had been locked in the same place Uther put Morgana whenever she had disagreed with him, but somehow, Arthur doubted that very highly.

Mostly, they were completely silent. There was no lamp, or candle, and the cell would have been pitch black were it not for the light of the moon, and of the fires still burning in the lower town, that shone through the single window. Arthur could just make out the figures and faces of the others, most of whom sat around the edges of the room, not saying anything. There was, however, one exception to this…

“Let me out of here NOW, you BASTARDS, and I might consider not bashing your faces in!” Gwaine yelled furiously, smashing his fist against the door, then stepping back as if to allow them to _actually_ open it.

Gwaine had been doing this for the past five minutes, to no avail. Had there not been the occasional shuffling and bout of laughter on the other side, Arthur would have thought there was no-one there, but as there was, he couldn’t help but admire their ability to ignore the abuse being hurled at them.

Even Gwaine had a limit, though, and it wasn’t long after this that he reached it; his shoulders slumped, his head dipped and, stepping up to the door one final time, he placed his hands either side of it, leaning his weight against the wall and trying to regain his breath.

After a moment, Gwaine felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced up to see Percival standing next to him, compassion written across his features.

“I’m his friend, Percival.” Gwaine said, voice rough. “I’m his friend, and he was too scared to tell me.”

The tension ratcheted up at the mention of a certain absent servant.

Gwen joined the non-existent conversation tentatively. “We’re all his friends, Gwaine. He didn’t tell any of us.”

With his back still to the rest of the group, Gwaine looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head and giving a silent, humourless laugh. “Yes, but _my_ father isn’t an evil murderous tyrant who would have burnt Merlin at the stake without a thought. _I_ haven’t banned magic, or hunted him, or banished Merlin’s father, or _murdered the woman he loved_.”

Involuntarily, they all turned their gazes to the figure sitting in the top right corner of the cell.

Arthur had, until this point, been motionless, leaning against the wall and staring into space, knees drawn up a little. It was difficult to read his expression; the little light from the window didn’t reach his face, and it was mostly in darkness, but at Gwaine’s words they all saw his eyes flicker towards the knight.

Perhaps sensing the King’s eyes on him, Gwaine straightened, and turned to look directly at Arthur. Percival’s hand remained on his shoulder, though now it could have been just as much a means of restraining Gwaine as comforting him.

Gwaine’s eyes were hard as he spoke. “You know, I actually knew most of what Morgana said about his father, and a little bit more, too. He told me; Uther asked for help from Merlin’s father – and he did help. But Uther betrayed him, and hunted him for his trouble.” Gwaine glanced around at the various occupants of the room, all of whom, with the exception of Gaius and Lancelot, were blinking rapidly in an attempt to process this information. There was a noticeable shake to Gwaine’s voice as he continued “So what’s the betting this help was of the magical kind?”

Arthur remained silent, though the shock was evident on his face, despite the shadows overcasting it.

“You, and your bloody _hypocrite_ of a father–!” Gwaine started to step forward, Percival tightening his grip and opening his mouth to speak, but Lancelot got in there first.

“Stop it, Gwaine!” Lancelot was glaring at Gwaine, ignoring the slightly wary stares he was getting from everyone else. It wasn’t lost on them that he, as well as Gaius, had been lying all along. “Merlin wouldn’t want you to use his father’s memory like this. Or Freya’s, for that matter. He never blamed Arthur for any of it; you heard him yourself! Merlin has always been loyal to Arthur, and the best way to be a good friend to him is to be loyal to Arthur as well.”

It took a moment under the intensity of Lancelot’s gaze, but Gwaine eventually gave in with a stoical nod. Shoulders hunched, he and Percival seated themselves against the wall to the right of the door, Gwaine clearly preparing to bash in the face of anyone who walked through.

“Why did he tell you, Lancelot?” Arthur was just as surprised as the rest of them to hear the words come out of his mouth. His voice sounded slightly rougher than normal – after all, it had been a few hours since he used it; or had it been minutes? Arthur wasn’t sure anymore.

The others were staring at him with obnoxious tenderness, like he was about to start crying, so he clamped his jaw and continued in as even a tone as he could manage. “I can understand Gaius knowing – someone as careless as Merlin could never keep it a secret from someone who _lived_ with him. But why did he tell you, Lancelot? He’s known Gwen for longer, and the times we met you before you were made a knight were, well, a little hectic.” Arthur leaned forward as he spoke, resting his arms on his knees.

Lancelot gave a small chuckle. “He didn’t tell me – I found out. Most people seem to find out about him when he’s saving their lives, because he has so little regard for his own safety when it comes to those he cares about, and it was no different with me.” Lancelot smiled ruefully. “It was like Morgana said; I couldn’t have killed the griffin without magic. He didn’t mean for me to see, but Merlin was still untrained, and the magic he was performing was very difficult; immortal magic, he called it. By the time it started working, he was practically screaming the spell.”

“He could have just been shouting.” Elyan broke in. “How did you know it was magic?”

“Well, for one thing, he was shouting bregdan anwiel something,” Arthur flinched at the foreign, alien sounding words, but Gaius chortled at Lancelot’s less-than-perfect pronunciation. “but the way that my lance started burning with blue flame was also a bit of a give-away.”

Arthur expected for his mind to completely reject the idea of Merlin performing magic when Lancelot described the event, but to his surprise, it didn’t. When Merlin had stopped those swords in the throne room, he hadn’t been the bumbling idiot boy that he spent most of his time as, but the wise and serious man that Arthur always felt he could turn to in times of need – it was still Merlin, there was just more to him than Arthur had known before.

Arthur’s thoughts were interrupted as the sound of footfalls reverberated through the corridor outside, and the soldiers on the door fell silent. Gwaine raised his fist a little higher. The prisoners stood, eyeing the door with concern. A warm hand slid into Arthur’s own, and he pulled Gwen into a hug, burying his face in her hair as the footsteps grew closer. For all he knew, this could be the last time he saw her.

Outside, keys jangled, dragging the prisoners back to reality. Gwaine took up position behind the door, fist raised and his most self-satisfied grin on his face, whilst the others exchanged glances of trepidation, and waited.

The door swung open, the guards about to walk in when Mordred’s all too familiar voice called out to them.

“Stop!” The guards froze. “Everyone stand by the back wall, and that includes you, Gwaine.”

Gwaine’s face was never as sour as it was when he came out from behind the door, and he did his best to annoy the soldiers by walking as slowly as possible over to the others.

Then Mordred stepped in.

Something akin to dread, along with a large portion of guilt, stirred in Arthur’s stomach as he looked on his youngest ex-knight. The expression of loathing Mordred had fixed on Arthur’s face sent a shiver down his spine, and it was clear the boy wouldn’t think twice before killing him. The other knights looked on him warily. Was this the man they had fought beside, talked with, trained with and teased? Clearly not. Mordred was a different man now.

So focused on Mordred was Arthur that he didn’t notice the guards until they had gripped him by the arms and dragged him forward, Gwen’s hands giving a final squeeze before he was pulled from her fingers.

Arthur’s dread increased even more when he felt his hands being tied again, _Executionexecutionexecutionexecution_ spinning through his head.

The others were apparently thinking the same thing. “Where are you taking him?” Gaius said, speaking for the first time since the throne room.

Mordred’s gaze didn’t leave Arthur’s as he spoke. “Another cell.”

The churning in his stomach eased a little at the words, and there was an audible sigh of relief from behind him, but Arthur still didn’t like the way Mordred was looking at him…

With Arthur now secured, Mordred turned and marched out of the cell, gesturing for the guards and the prisoner to follow. Arthur just had time to give a single farewell nod to the others before hands seized him by the shoulders and pulled him out into the corridor, the door slamming shut behind him. Inside, Arthur heard Gwaine mutter a very colourful curse.

**\---0---**

The lock clicked, and Mordred turned, pushing the door open with his other hand. “In.”

Arthur had struggled all the way there now that he knew that he wasn’t going to the chopping block, and he wasn’t about to stop now. Planting his feet firmly, he glared at Mordred.

Mordred took in a deep breath, jaw clenched, and nodded to the guards, who began the battle to drag Arthur inside. Still Arthur fought. This cell was the one Mordred had broken out of only two weeks ago. A new door had been fitted, and it was that that Arthur heard clanging shut behind him as they finally managed to push him inside.

It was only when Arthur spun around that he realised Mordred was inside as well.

Arthur sighed. “You want revenge.”

Mordred stepped closer. “That’s what we all want.” His voice was deadpan, emotionless.

“Mordred, Kara didn’t die because she had magic, it was because she tried to kill me. Anyone else who tries to do that gets the same, I couldn’t let it go unpunished.”

“Unpunished!” Mordred hissed angrily, his face coloured by emotion for the first time. “That wasn’t punishment, that was _death_! You weren’t teaching her a lesson, you were ending her life! She was young, she could have changed. But execution doesn’t give second chances, does it?!”

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but before more than a syllable could escape his lips, Mordred’s eyes flashed, and Arthur’s feet came out from under him. He crashed to the ground, chainmail clinking and his hands, which were still bound behind him, crushed under his weight. His head hit the floor, and it was a few seconds before his vision came into focus enough to make out the shape of Mordred, standing over him, pressing his sword against Arthur’s chest.

Anger lengthened Mordred’s breaths. “Why shouldn’t I just kill you now? I could, you know I could.”

It took only a glance to see that yes, Mordred most definitely could.

Mordred pressed the sword closer. Arthur, who had been propping himself up on his elbows before, lay back against the floor of the cell again.

There was pain evident beside the anger now. “Why couldn’t you just let us go? We would have left, and never come back. Instead, you made me listen whilst you executed the woman I loved! You should have just let us _go_!”

Mordred’s eyes were blazing, and it was a moment before Arthur spoke. “Because you were my friend. I didn’t want to have to watch as you left forever.”

To Arthur’s utter bewilderment, Mordred chuckled. “Really? Because I’m starting to sense a pattern here.”

Arthur frowned in confusion.

Mordred indicated the ceiling with his eyes. “He’d have left as well if you hadn’t killed Freya.”

Arthur’s stomach plummeted at the mention of Merlin, the mention of the girl. “I didn’t even know that he knew her.”

Ignoring Arthur, Mordred continued. “The only difference is he didn’t have the courage to stand against you.”

Arthur studied Mordred’s face for a prolonged second. There was more hatred in his words about Merlin than in his eyes towards Arthur, and it was bugging him. There was a question he’d wanted to ask.

“Why do you hate him?”

Mordred raised his eyebrows in surprise at the rather obvious question. “Because he’s loyal to you.”

But Arthur shook his head. “No, it’s more than that. Merlin told me, after you escaped; you were that Druid boy, weren’t you?”

Mordred froze.

“That’s what you meant when you said I’d saved your life. I felt like such a fool for not realising; I even knew your name.”

Mordred remained silent.

“Upstairs, you said the Druids…worshipped him, Emrys, Merlin, I mean. Why don’t you?”

Mordred’s face was completely unreadable, and at first Arthur thought he wasn’t going to answer.

Then he spoke. He sounded almost like the quiet, forgiving boy that they had once known. “I did worship him. I looked up to him. I saw him as an older brother, and would have done anything, _anything_ , to make him accept me. But he would not. He shunned me every time I got close, acted like I’d done something wrong, but I had no idea what it could be. He tried to kill me, to get rid of me, but he didn’t even have the courage to do it himself, just waited till someone else tried and then ignored my plight, whilst I would have moved mountains to help him. I think perhaps he knew; knew that I would turn against you. He didn’t realise that his actions would cause it.”

Arthur digested this information, and found that he could see what Mordred was talking about. It was Merlin who had told him Mordred was trying to escape, Merlin who had suggested he let Mordred die when the Disir had hurt him.

Mordred continued. “But the anger I felt towards him then is nothing to what I feel now.”

The sword moved away from Arthur’s chest, and Mordred knelt beside Arthur’s head. “I hate him now because we are the same. Because we have both lost our fathers to your father, have both lost the women we loved to you, and still he stands by you, and I don’t understand why. Merlin has suffered even more than me in his quest to protect you, and all this time he had a power that could destroy you. He could have got rid of your father any time he liked, got rid of you, and brought magic back himself. But he didn’t.” Mordred stood. “Perhaps he was scared of you; scared of what you would do to him if you found out. Him! The most powerful warlock to have ever lived! But whatever it was, it has cost many their lives.”

Merlin, scared of him? Impossible. But then Merlin’s words, Merlin’s face in the throne room floated to mind, and Arthur wondered if that was such a remote possibility at all.

Mordred cut the ropes around Arthur’s hands, and made Arthur remove his chainmail and padding. Then, once the manacles had been fixed around Arthur’s wrists, Mordred gestured to the guards, who opened the door to let him through. As he walked out, however, Mordred glanced over his shoulder.

“If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it. And I will kill you, someday. But first, I want to make you suffer the way I did; I want to make you watch as everything you ever cared about is destroyed. And when you do watch it, remember this;” he locked eyes with Arthur. “you deserve every second of it, for what you’ve done.”

And with that, Mordred left.

That was when it all crept up to Arthur. He had ridden non-stop for two days and a night, organised an army, successfully lost a city and a crown, and had learnt that his best friend and servant was actually a powerful warlock, all with only one night of restless sleep. Behind him, the first light of dawn was seeping in through the window of his cell. _His cell_. Had so much really happened? Earlier that night he’d been a king – now he was a prisoner.

At long last, Arthur’s legs gave way, and he slipped down the wall into a deep but fevered sleep.


	14. Loopholes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur wakes up, Morgana wants something from Gaius and the Druids are plotting something...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This chapter has a number of plot hinges in it that you might want to remember for later, so pay attention!
> 
> Not sure if I mentioned this when I posted chapter 13, but that one originally had a SQUIDGE of Perwaine in it, which, thankfully for us ALL, I deleted. As you will see in this chapter, I am merely hinting things now. ;)
> 
> Finally, please forgive me for general rubbishness or errors in this chapter - I wrote this whilst me and my beta were preparing for our exams in June, so it was never edited by her.
> 
> Enjoy! Review, subscribe, kudos, bookmark, whatever. Oh, and for those who want to read ahead, I recently posted chapter 17 on FF.net.

Chapter 14: Loopholes

Arthur had long ago been taught to wake up silently. You were at your most vulnerable when asleep, and the same stood for waking up – the slightest noise might alert an enemy to your presence at the cost of your life. But even Arthur could not help groaning as the fog cleared from his mind, and he started to move his aching muscles, eyes still bleary from sleep, and blinded by the light assaulting them.

Somehow, he had fallen asleep sitting up, only upright because his legs were drawn so high against his chest. His arms were deadweights at his sides, and his neck clicked worryingly as he tried to move it, slumped as he was over the top of his knees. Shifting his weight, Arthur tried to straighten his legs. It was a difficult task, and he groaned again in pain as his joints creaked, but once that was done he was a lot more comfortable for it – it had been inordinately difficult to breathe in that position.

It wasn’t until he tried to move his arms, and heard the chain links scraping and clanking, that he started to remember.

Suddenly, Arthur found that breathing was getting a little harder than normal. Ignoring the rattling sounds that followed, Arthur raised his palms to his face and pressed down on his eyes hard with the heels of his hands, heart thudding and not taking them away until he was sure any trace of the sleepy-eyed mist had vanished. When he did remove his palms, he could see clearly; too clearly. He saw bars from floor to ceiling on two sides, and golden, evening light pouring in from a window over his head, and a moth ridden blanket on the floor beside him, and shackles, shackles on his wrists, attached to chains that hung, trailed all the way to the wall he was leaning against…

Arthur scrambled to his feet, his weakly-protesting joints forgotten. Spinning round so that both chains were on one side of him, he backed away from the wall, hardly aware of what he was doing, but didn’t get more than a few steps before one of the chains went taught, tugging on his arm as it tried to make him face forward again. Arthur hated that feeling; that… _restriction_. He could usually cope with just being in a cell, but his father had learnt long ago that chaining him in was a _really_ bad idea…

“Oh, look, His Royal Highness is awake! Told you he was asleep, didn’t I?”

Arthur turned. On one side of the pillared area in front of his cell two guards dressed in black sat, cups and dice on the table in front of them, watching him.

The smaller one had a furtive, disgruntled look on his face. “Well, how was I supposed to know? It wasn’t exactly a normal position he was sitting in, was it?”

“You mean that he was _sleeping_ in.”

“Fine, sleeping in! Don’t see why it matters, anyway.” Embittered, the small man picked up the dice and threw them angrily onto the table.

“Let me out of here _now_.” Arthur growled.

There was a moment of silence before both men sniggered.

The small one stifled his chuckles behind his hand. “You’re right. He was asleep. I don’t think he’s quite woken up yet either. Still in dreamland, _Sire_?”

Arthur just glared at them, hands clenched to fists.

The larger of the two men stood, picked up a bowl, and came over to the cell, still grinning absentmindedly. Arthur’s heart jumped as he saw the guard pull a set of keys from his belt, but once the door had been unlocked they were placed on a hook on the wall outside, and Arthur’s heart slowed as the guard slipped into the cell without them; there was no point trying to escape unless he could get the accursed shackles off, and there was no way he could do that without the keys. Besides, the other guard could sound the warning bell in a flash if necessary.

The guard now in front of Arthur extended his hand nonchalantly, proffering the bowl, which was filled with a substance of dubious nature, towards him. Arthur didn’t move.

The man raised an eyebrow questioningly “Intending to starve yourself, are you? Or worried that the Queen is going to try and poison you whilst you’re sitting in her dungeons, completely at her mercy?”

It took a moment for Arthur to realise who he meant by ‘the Queen’, and he desperately wanted to say that they were his dungeons, actually, before realising that that would make him look even less like he was in control. Moving as little as possible to avoid the hellish jangling whenever he moved his hands, he took the bowl from the man, who sighed and walked out, locking the door. Only when he had sat down at the table again and was engaged in his game of dice did Arthur turn and seat himself against the wall once more.

Arthur put the bowl down next to him on the ground, choosing instead to fiddle with the clasp on the cuff.  He didn’t know when – or if – he would be getting more food, so it would be best to wait until he was actually hungry for something. And you would have to be pretty hungry to eat the foul mess that was sitting in that bowl. Someone had put the spoon in at a slight angle, and it was now inching its way, millimetre by millimetre, from vaguely vertical, to a slightly more horizontal stance. Arthur was certain that not even some of the awful food that Merlin used to make would–

_Merlin_.

It had slipped his mind; everything he’d learned about his closest friend the day before. He had forgotten about the magic, and the secrets, and the people Merlin had lost and never known because of him, because of Arthur; the stories never told and the suffering in silence, and the fear, fear of his father, fear of _him_ for all those years.

Merlin was his friend. He could always tell when Arthur was hurting, or struggling with something, he always tried to help, and usually succeeded too. So what did that make Arthur? How many times had Merlin been in pain or in trouble, and watched as Arthur brushed it off as being nothing more than an off day?

Then Arthur thought of those times; those times when Merlin had been the quiet, serious, wise man that Arthur turned to for advice in times of need, who’s judgement Arthur trusted beyond anyone’s, even Gwen’s. The Merlin who almost looked like some kind of…nobility. He knew without a doubt that _that_ was the real Merlin, as he might have been if he had been free – the great sorcerer who had pledged his life to Arthur’s. Emrys, the most powerful warlock to have ever lived, worshipped by the Druids, and nothing more than a serving boy to the King.

Arthur vowed, then and there, that if he ever became King again he would give Merlin a position that he deserved. He’d never been a very good servant anyway.

**\---0---**

“Y’know, if me and Gwen swapped over, we’d have the old team back together, wouldn’t we?” Gwaine said thoughtfully, leaning his head back against the wall and staring at the ceiling.

The knights, Gwen, and Gaius had been moved from the big cell a short while after Arthur, but other than that, not much had changed. They were in two cells now, which were directly opposite each other – Leon, Percival, Lancelot and Gwaine in one, Gwen, Elyan and Gaius in the other. It was these last two that Gwaine was addressing.

“Remember that?” he said morosely. “Four, five years and we’re back in the same place. I bet that ugly brute Morgana kept trying to make me fight is still alive. That blow to the head I gave him probably made his face even worse.”

“Gwaine?”

“What?”

“ _Shut up._ ” Elyan hissed.

Blissful silence reigned for one second, two seconds, three seconds…

“I could do with some ale.”

A collective groan rose up as he spoke. Leon started to bang his head against the wall.

“ _How_ can he talk _this_ much?” Lancelot whimpered, head in his hands

Gwaine just gave a thin-lipped smile.

From the other cell, Elyan called out to him. “Thanks for the offer, Gwaine, but I think we’ll keep Gwen. Once stuck in a cell with you was enough to last me a life time.”

“I’ll second that…” Gaius murmured quietly.

Percival chuckled. “Come on, give him a break! He’s not that bad.” His voice became thoughtful. “I think talking is Gwaine’s way of coping. Coping with a stressful situation, I mean.”

They all fell silent at the unintentional reminder of their predicament.

“D’you know what you need, Gwaine?” Gwen’s voice drifted in, attempting to lighten the precipitously leaden mood, though they could all hear the slight wobble that it had had ever since Arthur had been taken away. “You need someone quiet in your life, someone who can put up with your endless chatter. Who knows? Some of their quietness might even rub off on you!”

Any chuckles that they might have tried to force out were cut off as a young Saxon boy ran past their cells, panting heavily, and whispered something into the ear of the guard who sat nearby. The prisoners stepped up to the bars and watched warily as the guard handed the keys from his belt to the boy.

“What’s going on?” Lancelot called.

The guard drew his sword and the boy walked over to Gaius, Gwen and Elyan’s cell, leering nastily. “The Lady Morgana wishes to see the old toad.”

It was a few seconds before they realised who he was talking about – no-one in Camelot would dare speak of the physician so disrespectfully, for fear of Gaius as much as anyone else – but when they did, Elyan and Gwen immediately stepped in front of him.

“Shame you’re not taking him, then, isn’t it?” Gwaine growled and pressed his face between the bars from his position in the other cell.

The boy looked suitably intimidated, but the guard carried on regardless. “And what are you going to do about it, scum?”

The atmosphere became like ice – the stony, stubborn faces of the prisoners against the red faced guard, who was growing angrier by the second.

“If Morgana has something to say to Gaius,” interjected Percival coldly, drawing himself to his full height and letting the light from the torch flicker over his stony features. “then maybe she can come here and say it?”

The guard lifted his sword. “And maybe I should run you through?” he hissed heatedly.

Stepping in front of Percival, Gwaine fixed a glower on the black-clad guard fit to wake the dead. “And maybe I should take that sword and ram its pointy-end up your–”

“Stop this now!”

Everyone turned to look at the speaker.

“This petty squabbling accomplishes nothing!”

Gaius had stepped past Gwen and Elyan, and was standing at the bars. “I will go.”

Gwaine would have killed that guard purely to wipe the smug grin off his face.

“Gaius, you’re not going anywhere!” snarled Leon

“They’ll only make me go if you fight it – and I’m a physician; there could be no greater insult to my vocation than to have someone getting hurt for me.”

Once the door was unlocked, Gaius stepped out. The young Saxon boy reached, as if to grab the old physician’s arm, but Gaius turned on him with a smouldering glare. “I may be an _old toad_ , but I am perfectly capable of walking by myself, without help from any insolent whipper-snappers like _you_ , thank you very much!”

The boy nodded, shrinking even more under Gaius’ vindictive gaze, and they marched off, the boy trudging meekly behind the straight-backed physician, and leaving behind five very proud knights, and an even prouder Queen.

**\---0---**

_Merlin…_

…His name. That was his name.

_Merlin, wake up…_

What a stupid thing to say. If he could understand what was being said, then he’d be awake already; they could say “Merlin, dance a jig” and it would still wake him up – telling him to do it was stupid. But if he could hear the voice, that would mean he was already awake, wouldn’t it? _Am I awake, then? Or am I just babbling? Or both?_ Merlin thought absently. _Can you babble without talking? Can you babble with your thoughts?_

_You need to get up, Merlin!_

That voice; he didn’t recognise it, but there was something…familiar about it. It was young, yet old, and he could have sworn it was female, but no girl or woman he knew. At its sound he felt his magic, crushed and distant, stirring within him, like she was calling to it. _Who are you?_

_I am a friend, Merlin, and I am trying to help you. But first you must wake up!_

_Do I have to?_ Merlin thought-whimpered. He was warm and comfortable, and could not feel that pain, that god-awful pain that he felt in the waking world.

**_Merlin Emrys Balinorson, you must wake up NOW!_ **

_Oh, all right then, if you’re going to be like that._ Merlin thought irritably, grumpiness being his natural state whenever anyone ordered him to do anything.

He cracked his eyes open a little, trying to ignore the way the light burned them, and shifted a little. A rush of pain sparked through him like lightning at the movement, and he barely noticed as the presence left his mind.

Groaning, Merlin tensed his muscles at the ache. “ _Owww._ ” he mumbled

“In _deed_.” muttered a pensive voice.

Merlin’s eyes flashed open as he recognised the unmistakeable tones of Camelot’s court physician. Sure enough, Gaius’ face hovered over him, lined with concern. It was only when he felt the old man’s hand on his shoulder that Merlin realised he had tried to sit up.

They were in the council chambers, Merlin splayed on the ground and Gaius kneeling at his side. The light – stained-glass-red and evening-gold – was spread-eagled across the stone floor, making the throne behind them little more than a silhouette; a shadow, a gap in the whirling dust-motes.

Gaius took another glance at his injuries, or rather, his lack of them. “Getemian?” he queried

Merlin nodded, trying not to flinch at the memory of the spell.

“How long ago did it wear off?”

Merlin opened his mouth to tell Gaius that he couldn’t be sure, but he never got that far.

“Oh, it was two, maybe three hours ago…”

They both twisted sharply. Leaning with her back against a pillar on the other side of the room stood Morgana, smirking complacently.

Now sitting upright, Merlin glared at Morgana venomously, hoping to god that Gaius hadn’t noticed him flinch upon sight of her. “What do you want now?” he croaked.

“Oh come now, is that any way to speak to your Queen?” Pushing away from the stone column, she walked over to them.

This time Merlin couldn’t help it; he drew back.

Morgana smiled and halted. “Don’t worry _Emrys_ , it’s not _you_ I’m interested in.” and so saying, she fixed her grey-eyed gaze on Gaius.

“ _Me_?” Gaius’ eyebrow rose slowly as he looked between the two powerful magic users.

After the initial surprise at her statement, Merlin leant forward slightly, his upper lip curling in an almost-snarl. “ _No_ , Morgana. We made a deal; you can’t go near _any_ of them, I won’t let you.” Gaius let loose an exasperated sigh, which Merlin choicely ignored.

“ _Actually_ ,” Morgana corrected, “you said I couldn’t _harm_ them. I have no intention of harming Gaius.”

She was now staring intently at Merlin once more, and at her words raised a slow, lazy finger to her head and tapped her finger against her temple. Merlin sagged.

“Isn’t my mind enough for you?” Merlin muttered wearily, staring at the floor.

She shook her head even as Gaius’ lips parted in astonishment at the implications of Merlin’s words.

Merlin looked up once more, biting his lower lip and flicking his eyes to Morgana’s face and away sporadically, the way he always did when he was desperate. “I’ll let you take them all, all of my memories. I won’t hold anything back, I swear.”

With a high, manic laugh, Morgana walked the last couple of metres and knelt down beside the still-stunned Gaius. “Merlin, I can _already_ do that! How long will it take you to realise you have no hold over me? You have sold me your mind in return for your friend’s safety, and that is the end of it! Besides,” Morgana smiled as Merlin slumped in defeat. “there’s something specific I want from Gaius. What do you say, old man? Care to share?”

It took only a quick glance at Merlin before he said defiantly “I’m not giving you _anything_ , Morgana.”

Morgana cocked her head to one side. “No, I didn’t think you would – you won’t make the same mistakes twice. So for what we once had, I’m sorry about this… _Getemian._ ”

Clamping his eyes shut jadedly, Merlin abandoned all attempt at following the events unfolding around him as his limbs juddered and he fell to the floor. He was barely aware of Gaius’ hands gripping his wrists, of Gaius’ voice calling his name as the wave upon wave of stabbing, burning, breaking sensations ripped through his frame.

“What’s your answer now, Gaius?” Morgana grinned.

**\---0---**

“Iseldir?”

The sound of his name drew the grey-haired Druid from his thoughts, and he opened his eyes, taking in the frantic exterior of Elisedd, his brother and closest friend. It was not so much his appearance that suggested he was worried; Elisedd’s hair, chocolate brown as Iseldir’s used to be, was immaculate, and even his robes did not look the slightest bit ruffled. But his eyes seemed incapable of remaining fixed on one spot, and his lined face was even more creased than usual. Iseldir had always had a knack for judging people’s emotions, and Elisedd’s did not bode well.

“There is news?” Iseldir queried simply.

Elisedd bowed his head. “Camelot has fallen. The last of the army has been taken, Morgana is fully in control.”

There were gasps from around the circle of Druids. Despair raised its ugly head in Iseldir’s chest, but he quelled it; it would not do to make others more frightened than they already were. “Emrys? The King?”

Elisedd fiddled with a stray thread on the sleeve of his robe. “Of them there is no sign. They have not been executed publically, but nor have either of them been seen since the attack began.”

Iseldir nodded and closed his eyes. For several long seconds, silence reigned, and Elisedd feared to break it; he knew his brother better than anyone, and could tell that behind those closed lids a battle was raging. Fight or flight? They could not, _would_ not, renounce Emrys, and Morgana would drive them away for it. Suddenly, they were faced with a decision much like the one that they had been faced with thirty years ago, at the beginning of the Great Purge when Elisedd had been just a boy. Their fathers had chosen flight, and now the sons were faced with the same choice.

He could not put it off any longer. Nodding at the assembled Druids, he waited until he was alone with his brother then leaned closer to the statue-like man and whispered “ _What do we do?_ ”

Iseldir’s eyes flickered open and his watery-grey iris’ looked into Elisedd’s face without seeing it. “We get help.” he said simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are! I think you'll find the Druids coming into the story with increasing frequency as chapters go on...
> 
> REVIEW, KUDOS, BOOKMARK, SUBSCRIBE


	15. A Different Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur hears news from the world outside, and the Garred is starting to get involved...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a quick recap of what's happened for those of us who've forgotten:  
> Merlin was captured by Morgana when he and Arthur stumbled across her army gathering close to Camelot. Arthur went out searching with the knights to find him, but was turned back by the Druid chief, Iseldir, and a mysterious magical creature called the Garred that seems to look like a young girl. Using Mordred's knowledge of the castle and harnessing Merlin's magic through a swanky new magic binding collar Morgana now has called a Bind, she succeeded in taking control of the castle, and promptly began revealing Merlin's magic to Arthur, using information that she gleaned from his connection to the collar to make Arthur feel guilty - in particular, talking about Freya and Balinor. Desperate to protect his friends, who had been thrown into prison to await judgement, Merlin made a deal; he gives his consent for her to use his mind, and she doesn't hurt them. Meanwhile, the Garred watches from the shadows...

Chapter 15: A Different Path

The day was hot, swelteringly hot; the whole city seemed to shimmer slightly under the unforgiving midday sun.

Arthur had been picking at the bolts on his manacles and watching the dust motes coming in from the window when he was shocked out of his stupor by a shrill voice squealing “King Arthur!”

This was swiftly followed by a yelp as the speaker was cuffed over the head, and the deeper, gruffer tones of the guard. “You should watch your tongue – he’s not your king anymore, boy!”

Arthur’s head snapped up. Standing outside, his face alternating between hopeful glances at Arthur and fearful ones at the guard unlocking the door, was Celyn. But this was not the ruddy-cheeked, cheery boy who had looked after the horses with such care only a week ago; his face was much gaunter, and the strange, roughly-fashioned red tunic he was wearing hung from him loosely. He clutched a bowl of food in his fingers, but his wrists were manacled like Arthur’s, and there was a slight tremor in his hands. It took all the strength Arthur had not to let his anger show.

He stood up as Celyn entered. It had been five days – _five days –_ since he had woken up, and he hadn’t seen a single familiar face, not even Morgana. He suspected that Mordred was sometimes watching him while he slept, as disturbing a thought as that might be, but he had always seemed to leave long before Arthur had gathered his wits enough to make sure. Five days was a long time to go without seeing a friendly face, and an even longer time to go if you were wondering if that might be because there were no friendly faces left. There were a lot of things Arthur wanted to ask Celyn, but for now, Arthur was content to see the small, kindly smile that flicked up the corners of the boy’s mouth as the bowl passed between them.

The sharp _clang!_ of metal against metal rang through the air as the guard hit the bars with his sword, making Celyn flinch violently. “Just give him the food and be done with it!”

“I-I have to w-wait till he’s f-finished,” Celyn stammered, glaring stolidly at the floor. “to t-take back the bowl.”

It was only once the guard had withdrawn, muttering darkly, that they both relaxed.

Arthur sat down again, and, after a little prompting, got Celyn to sit down too, huddled against the adjacent wall, arms around his knees and staring at the floor.

The bowl was soon forgotten as Arthur leant forward eagerly. The guard wouldn’t give them long. “Please, Celyn, we don’t have much time. The Queen, Guinevere – is she alright?”

Celyn shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Gwen. “She is fine, my lord. Morgana is keeping her in the southern cells with Gaius and the First Knights.”

There was only time for a short sigh of relief before the guard was pounding on the bars again. “You’re not here to talk, now eat!”

“I’m eating!” Arthur shouted back irritably, grabbing the bowl and swirling its contents with the spoon until the guard left. But inside, he was grinning; Gwen was alive, as was Gaius, and the knights. Since the gallows had been erected in the courtyard outside his window, it had been looming over him, a dark cloud obscuring his only glimpse of freedom – he was yet to see anyone hang from it, but that didn’t mean people weren’t dying. At least now he knew all of his friends were safe. Well, all of them except–

“Merlin will be pleased to know you’re alright, sire.”

Arthur froze, still staring at the bowl, one word running repeatedly through his head like a dog chasing its tail. _MerlinMerlinMerlinMerlinMerlin_. He wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready to hear this, but the temptation was just too much. After a moment he glanced sideways over at Celyn, face impassive. “You’ve…” he swallowed, and attempted to make his voice sound casual. “You’ve seen…Merlin?” It felt strange, somehow, saying his name. Should he be calling him Emrys now?

There was a curiously skittish look on Celyn’s face as he nodded. “I bring him his food.”

Arthur lowered his head once more to stare at the bowl and continued to stir it, slowly. “And he’s…alright too?”

The pause stretched, paper thin and far too long “…Yes.” The boy’s eyes flickered up to his face, and he seemed to steel himself. “Actually, no, no I don’t think he is alright, sire.” said Celyn, pressing his lips together. “He spends every day with Morgana. I don’t know what she’s doing to him, but he’s different now.”

_Your fault, Arthur Pendragon. If he’d only felt he could tell you…_

Strangely, Celyn gave a nervous, jerky laugh. “You know, some people…some people are saying that he’s actually a sorcerer! That Morgana is trying to make him join her side! But that can’t be true, can it? He’d be evil if he was a sorcerer, wouldn’t he, sire? He’d have always been on her side! Merlin can’t be a–”

“Why don’t you ask _him_ , hmm? He’d know better than me!” Arthur snapped, glaring at the bowl. The look on the boy’s face triggered a fit of inward cursing – _see, you aren’t ready for this, get control of yourself_ – but he remained stoically silent.

“That-that’s just it, sire. He d-doesn’t talk now; he just asks ab-bout you, then says nothing. And, well, I thought you’d know, because…because you’re his best friend.”

Celyn’s words dropped into the air like pebbles into a pond, and for a moment, Arthur could do nothing but blink. His mind had frozen, his body had lost all the powers of movement, and even his heart seemed to have been moving slower than usual.

_You’re his best friend, Arthur. His best friend_.

Arthur thought he’d accepted it; he thought he had come to terms with what he now knew, he thought he had forgiven Merlin. He’d been wrong. He had been wallowing in pity, blaming himself for the way things had gone, and, secretly, blaming Merlin as well.

“I’ve been a fool…” Arthur murmured.

Celyn frowned. “Sire?”

That grin. That goofy, knowing grin, with the twinkly eyes and the shaking, hunched shoulders. That goofy, _genuine,_ grin. That was the image that irrevocably, inescapably sprung to mind when he heard those words. _His best friend_.

It was finally clear to him. 

He could bemoan all he wanted about the things he had done, the way things went wrong, but until he let them go and actually _changed_ , then the lessons he had learned, the lessons _Merlin_ had taught him, would be useless. If he had not been the friend he wanted to be to Merlin, then he should actually start _trying_ to be. The past was gone. He had to look towards the future. He had married the daughter of a blacksmith, instated commoners as knights. Breaking tradition had never bothered him before.

With a glance at the guards outside, Arthur leaned forward and gripped Celyn by the arms. “Celyn, I need you to listen to me. Merlin _is_ a sorcerer. No, it’s alright – he’s not evil. Do you understand me, Celyn?”

Confusion tugged at the stable boy’s features. “B-but, your father, you…magic is evil!”

An involuntary wince “No, Celyn. Me, my father, we were wrong. Magic…magic is only as evil as the people who use it.” Celyn still looked doubtful, so Arthur continued. “Look, _Merlin_ has magic. Can you imagine Merlin ever doing anything to hurt any of us?”

It was almost humorous to see the way Celyn’s posture immediately relaxed, and watch his chin jut out as he said confidently. “No, Sire, I can’t.” 

Arthur glanced through the bars once more, lowering his voice to the quietest whisper he could manage whilst still being intelligible. “I swear to you, we’ll get out of here, and we’ll get Camelot back too.”

Celyn’s eyes brightened; he already looked more like his old self. “Do you have a plan?”

A small smile flickered across his face, and he shrugged. “Not yet. But when I do, you’ll be the first to know.” Arthur nodded at the boy, his smile fading slightly. “We have to be strong, Celyn. They ‘re not going to break us. Never again.”

**\---0---**

“It’s impossible! We cannot do it!”

Iseldir didn’t even turn his head to face his brother’s crazed ranting, instead continuing to gaze toward Camelot, a pale blob on the green hillside above them. “And yet we must. We cannot hope to take the castle otherwise.”

Elisedd ceased his pacing and stared at Iseldir exasperatedly. His face was slick with sweat from the temperature, but somehow Iseldir remained as cool as ever. “ _How_ , Iseldir? None among _us_ could do it, and the only one who _could_ is locked up in the castle we’re trying to break in to!”

“It is not necessary to command him – the dragon will want to help its Dragon Lord as much as we do. Our only trouble is in finding him.”

“Oh! That’s alright then!” Elisedd laughed wildly. “And there I was thinking this was going to be _difficult_!”

The sounds of whispers and murmuring reached them from nearby as the young man’s outburst attracted the attention of some Druids walking past. Still Iseldir did not turn.

Elisedd sighed. It was always hard trying to reason with his brother when he was in a mood like this. “That is not our only hindrance. For us to have any hope of success, we need to have an ally inside the castle.”

“Ah,” sighed the Druid chief, turning at last to look at his long-suffering brother. “And _there_ lies our real problem. The Great Dragon is out here, with us, but an ally _in the castle_ …” Iseldir shook his head. “Morgana is yet to let anyone in, but even if she did, they would not be able to gain sufficient knowledge of the castle without causing suspicion.”

“We would also need to communicate with them.” Elisedd rejoined eagerly, glad that Iseldir was finally engaging. A cool and welcome gust blew up around them, and he raised his voice a little to be heard over the whistling of the wind. “They would have to be able to get in and out of the castle easily…Iseldir, what’s wrong?”

Despite Elisedd’s hopes, his older brother had lost focus again, but this time it was different. The breeze that had sprung up just a moment ago was reaching a strength akin to gale proportions, whipping their loose-fitting robes into a frenzy of flapping fabric and bending the trees in every which way and that. The peppered- grey head of the Druid chief was twisted round, craning in the direction that the growing, blowing zephyr was revolving in, his whole body tensed and on edge as he surveyed the scene. The shrubs and plants along the route the wind was taking were being cleared by the sheer strength of the spiralling gusts of air, and the trees along its path were being pulled, forwards, then backwards as it whirled, each spindle-fingered branch alternating between stretching, reaching, straining, then falling back, relaxing, before the whole cycle started once again, like the trees themselves were beckoning them forward. And at the end of the rampant turmoil of a path that this wind seemed to be creating, the spires of Camelot rose, imposing, a stock-still stony island amid the hectic tumult of the woodlands that surrounded it.

“WHAT’S HAPPENING?” Elisedd shouted. 

Iseldir turned back to face his brother, shaking his head and casting his eye over the direction it was coming from, but there was no clue there either; the forest behind them was just one seething mass of wind, no clue of its source.

A tug on his arm brought him out of his thoughts; he froze as he saw the look on his sibling’s face; Elisedd was staring, eyes wide, over Iseldir’s shoulder down the trail, arm outstretched and fingers pointing. Iseldir spun, but there was nothing more to see there than what had been before.

“She…she’s gone.” It was only because Elisedd was so close to him that Iseldir could hear what he was saying. “As the light moved I thought…she was all in black, and…those _eyes_ …what’s going on here?”

The strangest look crossed Iseldir’s face at his words. “I think we need to be closer to the castle.” The Druid chief said calmly. Though he spoke in his normal tones, his voice cut easily through the whirling wind. “And I think someone’s trying to get us there.”

The moment the words had left his mouth the wind died down, as suddenly as it had begun, leaving only the path it had made.

Elisedd clenched and unclenched his fists worriedly. “It could be a trap set up by Morgana. There could be a Camelot patrol at the end of this trail. You’d have to be a fool to consider going down it!”

“Perhaps,” muttered Iseldir. He gave a wry smile. “But someone’s gone to a lot of trouble for this. I think it would be equally as foolish not to go down it.”

**\---0---**

“Morgana,” Mordred muttered. She ignored him and continued her slow pacing, every now and then pausing to swig back the goblet of wine in her hand. “Morgana!”

Slowly, gracefully, she turned to face him, but her features displayed an impetuous pride that told Mordred she was not going to make this conversation simple for him. 

“What is it, Mordred?” she said lightly, chin high and a slight smile on her face.

“You still haven’t answered my question” he intoned. His anger was rising, and if she didn’t start paying attention to him soon he didn’t know what he’d do.

She chuckled darkly and looked down at the goblet in her hand, swirling the dregs round before answering. “I am the Queen of Camelot, Mordred. I don’t have to answer to _you_. Aaagh!” The goblet clattered from her grasp and she clutched at her burnt fingers, glaring daggers at him. “I wouldn’t play with fire if I were you, Mordred. Is the heat making you grumpy?”

“Five days! Five days you’ve been doing this, and no-one knows what you’ve been doing it _for_!” Mordred hissed, leaning across the table that was half-way to standing between them. “You’ve been neglecting your duties as Queen for this, and we want to know why! What’s so important about Emrys’ memories? What do you intend to do with them?”

As he spoke, they both glanced involuntarily at the figure huddled in the chair a few metres behind Mordred. The characteristic neckerchief and jacket were gone, and his bowed head made it difficult to see his face, but his unruly mop of black hair, his blue shirt and his lanky form made him instantly recognisable. A minute passed as they watched him, thinking on how far the mighty fall.

“He said something to me once, when I had him in my hut. It made me think…” Morgana murmured distantly. She blinked rapidly and looked over at Mordred once more. “I know you want your revenge on Arthur, and you shall get it, but I need to get my revenge on him first. I need to break him, and Merlin’s memories and mind are the ticket to doing that. Never let it be said that I don’t learn from my mistakes; I can and will be the Queen you all expect me to be, but let me satiate my taste for revenge first – a vengeful Queen makes the wrong decisions.”

Mordred considered her words for a moment. He wasn’t happy – her vengeance was taking days to satiate, and she refused to delegate command to anyone else. “How long? How long till you finish?”

“Oh, I finished _recording_ his memories days ago. No, it’s adding the ones that weren’t there before that’s the problem. He’s fighting them.”

Mordred turned his head sharply. “I thought he couldn’t do that? He gave you his agreement, didn’t he?”

“Yes…” she said. “Of course, he doesn’t need to believe those memories are true, merely…accept them. Merlin had his doubts even before I started interfering, and he’s close to breaking point. It should only take one more session, and the thoughts will slot in like they’ve always been there.”

Mordred nodded. “I think you’d better get to work, then.”

**\---0---**

As afternoon descended into evening, the Camelot stables were unusually quiet. The high temperatures had discouraged many a casual rider, and any patrols sent out had returned hours before, unable to cope with the blisteringly hot weather. Even the horses, who were restless from standing in their stalls all day, only shuffled a little and swung their heads, manes flattened to their necks with sweat.

It was into this stillness that the Garred stepped. No-one had seen her come in, and no-one would see her leave, either; only the horses would know she was ever there, and barely anyone listened to them. And notice her they did – it had started as a low level of snorting and shuffling upon her entrance, but when she glided past the stalls this rose to high whinnies, and the shaking of heads and manes as the heat was forgotten.

At last the Garred reached the stall at the end, and turned to face the dark brown mare inside with a smile. Unlike her counterparts, this horse remained motionless, watching the figure warily; this girl was a stranger, a stranger wearing black, and her new, crueller rider was a black-clad stranger. He had hurt her the day before when the he had tried to make her run faster. She’d thrown him off to teach him a lesson, but that had only made him angrier 

“It’s alright, Bethilde, I don’t want to hurt you.” The mare’s ears twitched in recognition of the name; only the little-young-one called her that now.

From beneath the folds of her cloak, a pale, thin hand emerged, and the girl reached forward until her palm rested gently on the horse’s nose, with a gentle look on her own face to suit. “I have a job for you, Bethilde. Something to help your rider, and–”

Bethilde gave an angry snort and tossed her head.

The Garred stepped back raised both hands in a calming gesture. “No, no, not him. I mean your _true_ rider, your master, and his friends – the young-magic-boy, and the little-young-one, Celyn.”

Bethilde’s restless fidgeting slowed and she raised her head, staring circumspectly down her nose at the girl, who kept eye contact and continued to talk.

“And maybe, if you agreed to help, I could give you something in return too?” The Garred’s eyebrows rose suggestively and she nodded towards Bethilde’s flank, where the welts from her new rider’s crop were. _Aaah, now_ that _sounded interesting…_

There were several seconds of tense silence between the girl and the mare; even the other horses quieted their scuffling to watch. But, when the eighth second had reached its end, Bethilde finally relented, shifting to the side so that the girl could slide in beside her and press a cold hand softly against her feverish flank.

A smile slid across the Garred’s face. “Thank you, Bethilde.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dum Dum DUUM. What is she planning? Please review! I would love to hear your theories on what's going to happen (if you haven't read ahead on FF.net) There's going to be more from the Druids soon, too.
> 
> Thanks go again to Stormageddon, who beta'd this. Thanks also go to the BBC, who created this show and most of these characters, giving us awesomeness but also meaning that I don't get to own any of them. In short, this is a Disclaimer.


	16. Wheels In Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The knights are washing, stable-boys are struggling, and Morgana's plans aren't the only ones coming to fruition...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not including this one, there is only one pre-written chapter left. I know I'm not the most reliable of updaters, but as of pretty-soon your gonna have to sit and wait for my A-levels to let up like me before you're getting anything concrete. I'm so sorry. I would much rather be writing this than a bloody case study of Holderness, believe me.
> 
> And I'm sorry about the knights in this one. Oh, Leon. Oh, Gwaine.
> 
> You might want to take a quick glance at the previous chapter, just to refresh your memory, cause there are a few things that link to them. You'll have to work out what ;)

Chapter 16: Wheels In Motion

Mordred could not have said what it was that made him pause, his hand pressed against the wood of the door, poised to enter. Perhaps it was the low noises of Morgana mumbling, of Merlin murmuring and struggling inside. Perhaps it was his uncertainty about his news.

Steeling himself, he took a breath, and pushed his way into the council chambers.

The room had changed a lot in the week since the fall of Camelot, and since the room had become Morgana’s personal workshop for exacting her revenge. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause of it – the walls and pillars were of the same lightly coloured stone as before, and the windows were completely uncovered. True, the drapes on the wall were of a darker hue, no longer the bright Pendragon red, but surely that didn’t account for the general _blackness_ that seemed to hang in the air? It was cloying, but impalpable, and Mordred had to wrestle with the urge to try and shake it off when he stepped across the threshold, as if it could somehow cling to his skin.

But, of course, it hadn’t quite permeated _all_ of the room.

The day was still young, and the light from outside was lancing through the glass of the window and onto the head, neck and shoulders of a certain blue-clad, black-haired figure, tied to a chair in the centre of the room. The light seemed to cling to him in the same way the dark clung to Mordred, and looking on Merlin, this small island of light in a sea of black, Mordred felt something like sorrow, something like longing, and something like regret.

That is, until his eyes fell on the _other_ figure in the room.

Morgana was crouched in front of Merlin, hands pressed flush against the bind on his neck, leaving golden, burning handprints. Mordred watched as she reeled off spell after spell with her eyes closed and her head bowed, motionless despite Merlin’s desperate twisting, and the uneasy whimpers escaping from his mouth. His eyes were closed, but every now and then the odd word escaped his lips – a quiet “ _no…_ ” or “ _please…_ ” that suggested he was talking to Morgana, then a breathy “ _I’m sorry…_ ” that made Mordred think he probably wasn’t.

Minutes passed without change, Morgana dripping with black, Merlin writhing in the light, and Mordred standing in the shadows, waiting, until at last Morgana’s spells began to slow. Her eyes flashed open as she finished, and she moved her hands away, but the handprints on the bind remained, and Merlin continued to wrestle against the straps pinning him down.

“It’s almost done.” She said, getting to her feet and looking at him over her shoulder.

“What? What have you put in there?”

She smiled and walked over to a basin of water where she promptly started washing her hands. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Cautiously, Mordred stepped forward, until he stood opposite her with the basin and the table it sat on between them. “I’m glad to hear it. But that’s not why I’m here. It’s Arthur.”

Her head jerked up and she stared at him for a moment, before moving back and waving her hand over the still water in front of her. “Show me.”

It started as ripples. They extended, inexplicably, from a point in the centre of the bowl, wider and wider, larger and larger, whilst colours started to emerge in the water’s depths and an image drifted to the surface.

Arthur was pacing in his cell. There was nothing unusual in that, he had little else to do, but it was the _way_ he was pacing that was different. For the past week Arthur had seemed…resigned. But now the best way of describing him would probably be angry. He marched from right to left, left to right, all the while shouting something at the top of his voice, though the spell didn’t allow for sound. The shackles didn’t let him reach the front of his cell, but the room was barred on two sides, and every now and then he would aim a kick at the bars closest to him so hard that she was sure the wooden pillars were on the verge of breaking, all the while calling something that looked suspiciously like _Morgana_.

“What do you think?” Mordred intoned, watching her bent head with a nervous, flickering gaze.

Her neck straightened slowly, but there was a smile dribbling from her lips as she locked eyes with him.

“I think it’s time for the next stage. We need to knock him down a notch or ten”

Behind her, Merlin shuddered and slumped down in his chair, the handprints fading and the light disappearing as clouds obscured the sky.

The darkness pervading the council chambers had, at last, become absolute.

**\--0--**

“What is _with_ you today?”

Of course, Celyn hadn’t expected Bethilde to give him a _proper_ answer, but the impatient whinny didn’t serve to enlighten him anymore, and that frustrated him.

Celyn cast another confused look over his shoulder at the horse’s rear flank. Did that have something to do with her strange mood? He had been certain there had been welts there from when that clotpole of a Saxon hit Bethilde, but when he’d checked they had gone, like they had never been there in the first place. How was that even possible? Celyn was about to reach behind him to pass his hand across the smooth flesh under her cropped hair, when another tug from the reigns had him sprawling forward, and pulled all thoughts of miraculous recoveries from his head

They were walking around just outside the city walls, the heat bearing down on them made bearable only by the slight breeze blowing in over the treetops. _Celyn_ was meant to be leading _Bethilde,_ but that didn’t stop her from dragging him up and down the same stretch of grass repeatedly, whilst the guards lazed around by the gate playing cards and sniggered at the young boy’s struggles.

Of course Celyn was privileged to even be allowed out here – Camelot’s citizens had been forbidden from leaving the walls, and it was only the need to exercise some of the horses that permitted him. Ordinarily he would have used the training grounds, but those were completely filled with the pitched tents of Saxon soldiers, giving Celyn the honour of standing outside, so long as the guards could see him. Not that they cared; he was just the same as the horses to them. He hadn’t even expected to take the horses out at all today; the heat was so unbearable that most had just wanted to stay in their stalls. But Bethilde had neighed and fidgeted and kicked up such a fuss when he’d walked in that he’d been forced to concede that she really _did_ want to go out. 

Celyn’s palms were growing sweaty on the reigns, and the rising wind now buffeting him wasn’t helping matters either. Earlier on he had tried letting go of the leather, letting her roam free so he didn’t have to get dragged around, but she had immediately stopped and gone back to him, stomping her feet and worrying at him so much that he had eventually conceded, and was now being dragged around by her begrudgingly.

“Please…Bethilde…could you at least let me _rest_ for a moment?”

After a second’s deliberation time, the reigns clasped tightly in his hands started to go slack, until the boy and the horse were, at last, at a complete standstill.

Seizing the moment, Celyn let his weight fall against Bethilde’s side, his temple pressed against the tightly knotted muscles in the horse’s shoulder. It was oddly comfortable. The Saxons had been working him to the bone, leaving him tired enough that he felt he might just collapse. It felt good to relax and let someone else take his weight. Bethilde just whinnied gently and shifted to make herself more comfortable for her little friend. Her body heat might have been a problem, what with the skyrocketing temperatures, but the wind whirling around them was rather chilly, making the boy shudder and nestle in closer against the horse’s foreleg.

This was why he did not see the trees of the forest parting before them in the wind, and it wasn’t until Bethilde craned her neck around to blow softly into his face that he opened his eyes and saw the transformation of the woods.

“But…but…”

Cutting off his words, Bethilde stepped towards the breach, dragging the boy with her, who gripped the reigns harder in slack-jawed shock.

“Stop it, Bethilde! We don’t know what’s down there!” Celyn threw a glance over his shoulder at the guards who were meant to be watching them, but they had long since stopped paying them any heed, completely immersed in their game. A cry for help rose in his chest, but it lodged in his throat and never got further than his lips. What would they do to Bethilde if she didn’t stop walking into the forest? Something in her gait suggested to Celyn a particular purpose that made him doubt either he or they could get her to turn back.

So focused was Celyn as the horse dragged him over the threshold of the forest that he didn’t see the girl in the shadows to his left throw a nod to his horse, who whinnied in return, then vanish into the darkness as if she had never been there at all.

**\--0--**

“I reckon,” said Gwaine, holding the plate before his face and giving it a last swipe with the cloth, “it’s the hair.” He placed the plate on the rack beside the sink.

“The hair?” Elyan picked up the plate and dried it, before passing it on to Lancelot, who put it in a pile of identical plates and took them over to the plate cupboard.

Gwaine stopped working for a moment, resting his elbows on the edge of the sink and pointing his hand – complete with dripping cloth – at Elyan and Leon next to him. “Have you noticed,” he murmured, with the air of someone imparting a great secret. “that everyone who has magic has _black hair_. Morgana, Mordred, and now Merlin. Trust me, my friends, that cannot be coincidence.”

“Mary Collins was _disguised_ as someone with black hair.” Leon pointed out, as he stared in bemusement at the cloth and plate in his hands. “What is it I’m meant to be doing again?”

“Drying the plate. And anything else that comes your way”

Leon frowned at Lancelot. “But… _why_? Won’t it just dry by itself?”

Percival, passing by with a huge sack of potatoes, leaned over Leon’s shoulder with a grin. “Welcome to the wonderful world of servant work, Sir Leon. And, the speed at which you’re working on that plate, it probably has dried by now.” Suddenly Percival caught sight of the cook coming in their direction and hurried away.

“WHY HAVE YOU STOPPED WORKING?” she bellowed.

Gwaine spun, the cup dropping from his hand and clattering to the floor.

The cook’s glare was murderous.

“AND NOW YOU’RE DROPPING THINGS TOO? I SHOULD TELL QUEEN MORGANA ABOUT THIS!”

Gwaine gave her a thin-lipped smile. “Yes, and I’m sure she’d be very interested to hear about it too.” 

Leon, fatally distracted from the strenuous task of holding a wooden plate, didn’t notice that it had slipped from his fingers until it crashed to the floor and split down the middle. Leon had faced armies and looked less frightened than he did as the cook turned on him.

Suddenly the cook’s face did something rather odd, that at least _looked_ like a grimace. “NEVER MIND. YOU’RE DOING REALLY WELL!” she thundered, before sidling away.

For a second, the knights just stood there, staring after her.

“Was that actually a _smile_?” asked Lancelot quizzically.

“Probably best not to think about it” Leon whispered, shuddering. “She probably just likes me because I’ve never stolen food from the kitchen.”

Elyan glanced at him sympathetically. “Well, _I’ve_ never stolen food from the kitchen either –”

“Nor I” added Lancelot.

“– And she’s never looked at either of _us_ like that.”

Leon froze.

“You know,” said Percival thoughtfully “Morgana’s plan to make us feel demeaned and ashamed by making us work in the kitchen isn’t a very good one, given that most of us are actually commoners.”

Lancelot laughed. “Didn’t people use to call you the Kitchen Knight?”

Percival grinned.

“Well, I expect our Queen has a few other things on her mind, the evil, black-haired… _witch_ ” grumbled Gwaine, still scowling after the cook.

Lancelot frowned. “Your theory about the hair can’t be right, Gwaine. Gaius is a sorcerer”

“Well, he’s not a _proper_ sorcerer. Not anymore. Maybe his hair was black, once upon a time.”

“But what about all the people who have black hair and don’t have magic?” Elyan interjected. “Like Lancelot?”

“Lancelot’s hair isn’t _properly_ black either. Besides,” Gwaine stooped to pick up the cup. “he knew about Merlin’s magic, didn’t he?”

Elyan laughed. “So now even _knowing_ someone with magic is enough to turn your hair black?”

Gwaine glared at him. Percival came over to them and leaned against the bag of turnips he was meant to be hauling around. Eyes narrowed, Elyan turned so he was facing Gwaine. 

“Okay, Gwaine, so what about you? Your hair is black, but you don’t have magic, and you didn’t know Merlin had magic. What’s your excuse?”

“Gwaine’s hair is _definitely_ not black.” Percival said, head cocked to the side. “It’s _deep brown._ ”

“Percival is almost right, there. _My_ hair, I think you’ll find, is _deep brunette_.” So saying, he flicked his hair up behind his ear in a sweeping head movement that would have put hair adverts to shame, had such a thing existed at that time.

“Look, I think we have established that it isn’t their _hair_ that gives them magic.” Elyan said, chuckling and shaking his head. “There is _no way_ you can argue that Morgause had black hair.”

Gwaine paused for a moment, lips pressed together. “Okay, so maybe you’ve got a point there.”

“ _But_ ,” Elyan persisted. “There is one factor that unites _all_ of the _proper_ sorcerers we’ve mentioned. Their _names_ all begin…with an _M_.”

The silence stretched for a long time.

“Oh my god.” said Leon

**\--0--**

“Morgana! Come down here and face me!” Arthur called for the hundredth time, aiming a kick at the now thoroughly battered bars to his right. 

He was pretty sure those bars were going to break pretty soon, and he found himself feeling oddly hopeful, though he knew it wouldn’t do him any good; the bars he was breaking would only lead him into another cell, and the manacles he was wearing meant he couldn’t even move beyond the confines of his own prison. The only difference between kicking the bars, and kicking the rough stone walls was that one hurt like hell, and the other made a rather satisfying _crunch_ noise.

Even if he had been able to break his way out of the cell, he probably wouldn’t survive the seconds that followed it. The number of guards outside his cell had increased tenfold since he’d started to kick up a fuss, but for some reason, be it under order or fear, they had done nothing to stop him, only stood there, finger’s twitching to their sword hilts at every sound, and eyes flickering between him and the bending bars.

Arthur glared at them. “Where’s your _queen_ then, hmm? Cowering in her throne room? She’s not even brave enough to come and speak to her own _brother_ , leaves it to her little tin soldiers to deal with. Is that the kind of ruler you people want?”

It wasn’t like there was any kind of plan or reason behind his actions at all. Arthur had just grown _tired_. Tired of this little game that Morgana was trying to play with him, where she ignored his existence and did what she liked with his friends, and he tried to act like he didn’t care that he hadn’t seen anyone, hadn’t seen _Merlin_ , and didn’t even know if they were all right.

Arthur threw another kick at the bars, and this time, they splintered and broke. With a satisfied smile, he pulled his leg out and turned to face his nervous onlookers.

“Either you take me to Morgana, or you bring her here _now_.”

“Don’t worry, Brother, I’m here already.”

The guards – every last one – sighed in relief, scuttling back against the wall to allow Morgana and Mordred through. It seemed that, despite having gained a kingdom, Morgana looked even more manic than before, her hair a mess, and her gaze…well, there was no other word for it, _wild_. Mordred was as unreadable as ever, and Arthur eyed him warily. Warring sensations of guilt and fear had plagued him since their last conversation, and they had started to become intermingled, until he was no longer sure which was which. At least now, Mordred wasn’t entirely focused on him; those watery blue orbs were flickering between him and Morgana, like he wasn’t quite sure why she was there.

“Morgana.” He raised his chin, and looked at her directly in the eyes.

“That’s _Your Majesty_ to you, Arthur.”

Her irises flashed, and Arthur couldn’t help but flinch. _Magic is not evil, magic is not evil_. He wasn’t sure what she’d done at first, but then he heard the sound of creaking wood to his left and was left fighting the urge to curse that his hard work on the bars was being undone.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” Morgana said, lightly, smiling like she knew exactly what he had been thinking. “I was just tying up some loose ends with one of your friends.”

_Don’t let her see that you care, don’t let her see that she’s got to you_. He folded his arms across his chest and put on the smug grin he used to adopt when he thought she was trying to impress him.

“Really? Which friend would that be then? You see, unlike you, I actually have more than _one_.” Arthur relaxed a little more as the words came out. Banter. He could do banter.

A murderous scowl darkened her features. “Yes, you’re clearly surrounded on all sides by friendly faces.” 

It was odd. At her words, a strange feeling came over him, like a sense of familiarity. He felt, inexplicably, that both he and Morgana were children again, sword fighting on the training ground, laughing and throwing jibes at each other as they blocked and parried the thrusts of the other. Knightly honour meant that he had often forfeited matches to her, but she was good with a sword, and he’d come to realise that it was always much more fun for both of them if he didn’t make allowances.

There was a sense, in that moment, like not much had changed. Here they stood, same as ever, with a battle of wits. Except that the grass that they fought on was made of people, and it was Mordred and Merlin in the palms of their hands. Morgana didn’t care who she stepped on – she would use any tactic to get at him. He, however, could not move his feet for fear, whilst Morgana held his weapon in her hand, no longer a familiar sight in the angle at which she held it. He was backed up against the castle wall, but their games were usually fought in the mind as much as with the sword.

She always used to win the mind part.

_Oh well_ , he thought in resignation, _It’s worth a shot. I should be fine as long as she doesn’t pull the rug from under my feet._

“It’s funny, Morgana.” Arthur said, still with that smug grin on his face. “In all the time I’ve known you – and I’ve known you quite a long time – I had you down for a gloater. I thought you’d be down here within minutes to rub it in my face. What _have_ you been doing this past week?”

Her lips quirked at the corners. “You’re not wrong. You should have seen how much I gloated at our father when I had him here.”

“He was fond of gloating too. Yet another thing to add to the list of how similar you two were.”

“Perhaps you should look to your own faults before you compare me to Uther. Your best friend hid his magic from you because he thought you were _just_ like your father.”

A low blow, designed to go straight for the gut. Arthur’s smile froze. Morgana never did play by the rules.

“What do you want, Arthur?”

The fun was over now, and neither was smiling

Arthur swallowed. “Merlin. I want to speak to Merlin.”

A sudden movement to the right drew Arthur’s attention. Mordred, until now, had been as still and silent as a granite slab, but at those words his head had snapped up. Arthur was sure he could feel the force of his piercing gaze.

“I assume you mean Emrys, brother? At least have the decency to call him by his name.”

The thought of it sent a jolt through his spine. Could he really have lied about that much?

Still, Arthur tried not to let it show. If he looked too desperate, Morgana would deny him, he had to intrigue her, make her curious by keeping his cards close to his chest–

“Alright then.”

“What?” The word slipped out before he could stop it. She had given in. Just like that.

Then he saw it. Right behind her eyes, a flicker of something that looked a lot like…well, looked a lot like _triumph_.

Damn.

“Morgana, what are you doing?” Surprisingly, it was from Mordred that this query came. “You can’t put him in there with him. You can’t.”

At those words, Arthur felt his heart begin to race. He studied Mordred’s face for signs of falsehood, but all he saw was anger, and pure, blind panic as Morgana brushed him off and gestured to the guards behind them, two of whom sprinted off down the corridor.

So much for not letting her pull the rug from under him. He should have known better.

The sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor reached their ears, and everyone stilled.

Into Arthur’s line of sight came the two guards and the cargo they dragged between them.

“Merlin!” Arthur gasped.

Somehow, he’d been expecting him to look different. A long robe, maybe a beard. But this?

He was the same as ever. Same boots, same shirt, same trousers and jacket. Even the belt and the blasted neckerchief were there. He was unconscious, head drooping down, making it hard to see his face, but Arthur knew his cheek would still be hair free regardless.

The guards had reached forward with the keys to open the door, and Arthur was fighting with himself to not leap forward and drag Merlin away from them. Even once they’d pulled him inside and dropped him on the floor, he stayed still, and it was only after they’d left the cell and locked the door behind them that he allowed himself to drop to his knees beside his friend and turn him over into a position that was easier to breathe in and tried to draw on anything vaguely medical he’d ever seen Gaius or Merlin do.

He checked his heartbeat. That felt fine.

His breathing. Yes, there was definitely…breathing happening.

What was it Gaius and Merlin always did with people’s necks? Check for pulses? He pushed aside the neckerchief, but stopped when he saw what sat underneath.

The collar that was stopping his magic.

“Do me a favour, Arthur.” Morgana drawled “Don’t kill him.”

Arthur’s head snapped round, but she was already walking away.

**\--0—**

_Thud!_ Mordred pinned Morgana against the door of the throne room, arm at her throat. 

“You promised.” He growled. “You promised that I would be the one to kill him.”

Morgana stared at him coolly. “And you shall.”

“ _No_.” Mordred’s upper lip began to curl in an almost snarl. “You’ve given that job to _Emrys_.”

“I haven’t.”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!”

A flash of Morgana’s eyes and Mordred was flung back across the room, landing just a few inches short of the throne.

Morgana expected him to get up, to charge at her again, screaming accusations. Instead there was silence, and a rustle of cloth and a clanking of chain mail as he rolled onto his side and curled into himself.

“He killed Kara. He killed Kara, so now I have to kill him. I have to. It’s the Knight’s Code.”

“Oh Mordred,” Morgana came over and knelt at his side, a hand stroking his face. “You will have your vengeance, I swear. Merlin isn’t going to kill Arthur.”

His head turned towards her, like a clockwork figurine. “But…you made Emrys hate Arthur. That was your vengeance.”

“ _Hate_ him?” she laughed “I beg to see the sorcerer who could make Merlin turn on Arthur. No, what I made Merlin feel is much closer to home.” She smiled languorously. “And all the more sweeter for it.”

Mordred had sat up now. “You told Arthur to try not to kill him. I thought…”

“It’s all part of the game, Mordred. The mind games that we’re playing.”

“So…” he inclined his head “If you didn’t make him _hate_ Arthur… then what _will_ he feel when he wakes up?”

She clasped his hand in hers and raised it to her lips. “ _Fear_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta daaa! What did you think? I'll put the next chapter up next week. If I don't - REMIND ME, cause I literally have the memory of a goldfish when it comes to this...


	17. Shared History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin wakes up, and the Druids get a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE LAST COMPLETED CHAPTER. Which means, from now on, you are probably going to be waiting quite a while for updates. I've written part of the next one, but even once I've finished, my Beta is pretty pushed for time as well. I'll try and finish eighteen as quick as I can, but then this may have to go on hold until summer...
> 
> The first half of this took me weeks. Possibly months. The second half, I wrote in a day.

Chapter 17: Shared History

_Merlin…_

That voice again. Merlin felt himself relax as it chased his nightmares into the depths of his subconscious. It had been so long since anyone had called him that. _Hello again_. 

_You need to wake up._

What a surprise. He smiled ruefully. _That’s what you said last time,_ he thought.

_I know,_ replied the voice.

_I think I’d have preferred it if I’d stayed asleep last time._

There was a long, pregnant pause. _I’m sorry. You’d no doubt prefer it if you stayed asleep now. But you can’t._

_Why not?_ Merlin thought petulantly.

_You’ll have to face it sooner or later. This will be the hardest part; the first meeting._ Was he imagining it, or did the voice sound resigned? 

_What do you mean?_

_You’ll see. But it can only get better from here._

He sighed internally. Why did all magical creatures have to be this cryptic?

Still, the voice was right, he couldn’t stay like this. Besides which, the voice had been a real comfort over the past week.

_Thank you,_ he thought.

_It is my pleasure. I know how much difference a little company can make._

A part of him wanted to ask how she knew, and how she’d known what he’d meant – she wasn’t reading his mind as far as he could tell – but somehow he knew he wouldn’t get an answer.

Rallying his strength, he clawed his way out of the blackness.

As his eyelids flickered open, he was faced with an unfamiliar ceiling. Yep, definitely unfamiliar. You get to know a ceiling pretty well when you have to stare at it day in, day out, and even in the sputtering torchlight he could see that this wasn’t his cell.

Torchlight. Probably night time, then.

There was a scuffing sound from somewhere just outside his line of vision. “Merlin…?”

Merlin froze. That voice…

It couldn’t be. He twisted his head around, slowly, so slowly, scanning the room until his gaze landed on the darkened face of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed man, watching him from the shadows–

_– **ARTHUR**_ –

 

– ** _Magic_** _–_

_– **Uther** –_

_– **Freya** –_

_– **Liar** –_

_– **Kill you** –_

_– **Kill You** –_

_– **KILL YOU** –_

 

Arthur stepped forward–

 

– ** _NO!_** _–_

Merlin jolted up, hands and feet scrabbling backwards. His back thudded against bars – _bars on two sides? Mordred’s cell, cell for traitors_ – and he pulled himself along them face as impassive as he could make it till he hit the corner and his legs were too entangled in the blanket – _blanket? Where’d that come from?_ – to move further and he didn’t know what he was doing anymore just anything – _anything_ – to keep his life a second longer, to explain – _Please, PLEASE_ –

Arthur was frozen, staring at him.

The tableaux stayed; Merlin panting, eyes afire, in the corner closest to the door, Arthur poised halfway across the room, eyes fixed on the hand that Merlin had raised, fingers splayed and palm pointed directly at his chest.

Merlin stared at his hand too. He didn’t even remember raising it, yet when he tried to make it drop, it did nothing but shake. His eyes closed momentarily in exasperation. _Damn it, Merlin, this is the last thing you need, just lower the stupid hand._ But it didn’t move. _He_ couldn’t move.

“Alright, alright. I won’t come any closer,” Arthur said as he raised hid hand in a placating gesture, taking a step back. His already guarded eyes now even more guarded flickering between Merlin’s face and arm. “In fact, I actually _can’t_.” Arthur rattled his shackles. The put-out look on his face was almost comical.

Still, Merlin’s hand refused to move.

Arthur stole another step back into the far corner, then, with a pause, changed direction. Now, instead of manoeuvring towards the furthest possible position from Merlin, he pressed himself up against the side wall of the cell and slid down it.

It was an invitation.

 Fingers still splayed, Merlin dragged himself across to his former position. Now he was directly opposite Arthur, who sat ramrod straight, watching him move. A thought seized Merlin, and he studied the king’s eyes as they glanced towards him. _Was that…? No…no, it couldn’t be…_. Dread solidified in Merlin’s heart as he saw it.

Fear. Arthur was afraid of him. Of _him_.

Merlin’s hand dropped like a rock.

“I wasn’t…” he croaked. It had been a while since he’d spoken. “I mean, I wouldn’t have actually…I can’t….” Why was it so hard to say it? Arthur knew now. There was no denying his magic now, he could see it in Arthur’s eyes.

“Are you alright?” Arthur muttered. Merlin could have laughed. He didn’t.

“It’s my job to ask you that.”

For the first time since he’d woken up Arthur met Merlin’s eyes, and a small smile pricked at the corner of his mouth. “So I’ve heard.”

There was silence. He didn’t smile back. 

Gradually Arthur’s smile vanished under the onslaught of what stood between them; two separate lifetimes, worlds apart, made manifest and held together by a shared past, a single strand of glimmering friendship. How could a person cross a boundary like that? To have gone through so much with someone, and then found out they were a different person entirely. What were you supposed to say?

“You…don’t need to talk. If you don’t…want to.”

There was no change in Merlin, except for perhaps a slight thinning of the lips. 

Damn. Arthur had been hoping he would pick up on the glaring, unspoken _please talk to me_ in his words. 

Typical. The one time he _didn’t_ want him to shut up.

“So instead…I’m going to talk. And you’re going to answer…if you want.”

Outside, a soft rain was falling. It pooled just beyond the bars, until it overflowed and began to trickle through the window and run down the wall in a shifting and erratic stream. This wasn’t what Merlin was like normally. He continued to maintain his blank expression, but beneath that, Merlin was clearly scared. Merlin had never been scared of him. 

_Maybe he has,_ whispered his subconscious, _but you’ve never noticed._

Arthur swallowed, and scrabbled for something to say. “Why the name?”

A look of confusion flickered across Merlin’s face, and the words slipped out before he could stop them. “The name?”

“ _Your_ name. I mean…shouldn’t I be calling you…” he took a deep breath to steel himself “… _Emrys_ ”

Merlin’s impassive gaze flickered as he flinched. “- _Please_ don’t.”

The desperation, almost _disgust_ , in Merlin’s tone made Arthur blink in surprise. “But that’s your name, your… _real_ name…isn’t it?”

A huffed laugh escaped Merlin’s lips. “ _No_. Merlin is the name I’ve always been called. I’ve got _Mordred_ and the Druids to thank for _Emrys_.”

Arthur couldn’t help but enjoy the rush of relief he felt as Merlin said that. It had bothered him more than he cared to admit that he might not even had known his best friend’s name.

Merlin was staring at him. “You thought my name was actually Emrys? Arthur, you met my mother. You went to my _village_!”

“Oh. Right.” He’d forgotten about that. “They wouldn’t have lied for you, would they?”

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. “No.” he said shortly. “They wouldn’t. Not lied. They love my mother, but if you’d asked, they probably would have…. Most of them hated me. For…” Merlin’s eyes drifted to a point somewhere over Arthur’s shoulder. “…obvious reasons.”

Arthur frowned. “I just thought they hated you because of…well, because of _you._ ”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Even now, Merlin couldn’t keep the smile of his face, but it faded the moment he met Arthur’s eyes.

“Merlin…” Arthur leaned forward. He had to make him see sense. “You have to believe me, but this is a spell. I’m sure of it. Morgana is making you think that you’re scared of me.”

Merlin closed his eyes and reached up to rub the back of his neck. “No, Arthur.”

“You can get past this Merlin. You _know_ that you can trust me, you know it!”

“Arthur–”

“She is _making_ you do this!”

“She’s not. Or, not exactly”

He leaned back. “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”

Merlin’s jaw clenched. “She didn’t add anything. She isn’t making me do anything. She…she just _changed_ things. Exaggerated what was already there.”

“Changed things?” Arthur frowned. “How could she do that?”

Unconsciously, Merlin’s hands drifted to his neck. “With this.”

Arthur looked at where a glint of metal could be seen peeping out over the top of his neckerchief. “The thing that’s stopping your…”

“Yes” Merlin interjected, before he could hear Arthur say that fateful word. “It’s called a Bind. It doesn’t just control magic, it can control the self. With consent, it can be used to affect memories.”

“…With consent?” he balked. “You mean…you agreed to this?”

Merlin’s gaze had once again returned to its blankest state. “Why do you think you’re still alive, Arthur?”

_No_. His nostrils flared. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

A pained smile trickled forth. “I’ve given up more than just my memories for you in the past ten years.”

“So, you mean to tell me that your fear was already there, hmm?” Arthur couldn’t help the anger that was coming through in his words as he jumped to his feet. “That Morgana is just making you _more_ scared?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe it! Merlin, we’ve been friends for ten years! You’ve never been scared of me before!”

“You didn’t know about me before.”

“And?” He wanted, _needed_ to make Merlin see. “What possible reason could you have to be scared of me?!”

Arthur’s voice echoed around the room, temporarily drowning out the rain. Even once the echoes had died, everything seemed to be quieter. Stiller. The flexing in Merlin’s jaw and the flickering of his eyes as he stared at Arthur seemed the only movements left, bar the flickering torches and the pattering rain and the shift and turn of life beyond those walls.

“Arthur,” Merlin half-whispered. “You’re _Uther’s son_.”

There was complete silence. Even the rain seemed to stop falling in that second. It was like a punch in the gut, and Arthur found he would like nothing better than to fall to his knees. But he couldn’t. He was locked in his place, towering over his friend.

“I have watched you hunt and _kill_ those with magic. I have had to listen while you lectured me on its dangers, and followed your father’s guidance. How many times have you stood by your father at the pyre or the execution block?” Merlin gave a small shake of his head “You are a great man, Arthur, the greatest king that Camelot has ever had, and I will follow and protect you till the day you die. But to do that, I have had to give up on the return of magic. It’s been a long time since I expected that of you.”

“You…” Arthur had to pause for a moment. His throat was too dry. “You really think that?”

A rueful smile twisted Merlin’s lips. “I told you that there could be no place for magic in Camelot, didn’t I?”

Arthur tried to step closer to his friend, but Merlin flinched and tensed warily. “And if I told you I would do it? If I told you that you were wrong?”

“I’m not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you. Better than you’ve ever known me.”

Something rose in Arthur’s throat, and he could only shake his head in answer

“Then say it. Tell me you will accept magic back.” The look on Merlin’s face was almost defiant.

Arthur stopped. _Think of Merlin, think of Gaius, of Iseldir and the Druids_ “I will–” he stopped, choking on his own words. 

He tried. He really did. But he kept recalling Morgana to his mind. Mordred and all the other sorcerers who had ever raised a hand against him. He saw his father’s face and words hovering on the edges of his heart, and couldn’t quite let the words slip out. “I want to say it, Merlin, I swear.”

“But you can’t.” Merlin replied, looking resigned. “Because you don’t believe it. And _that_ is why you will make a great king, Arthur.”

They both fell silent. There was nothing more to say.

**\---0---**

A soft wind was stirring the night air, slanting the rain on its inexorable path to the ground. Stretching out his hand, Iseldir let the breeze play over his skin, and watched as pear-shaped droplets of water ran through the lines and creases in the folds of his palm. _Is that you?_ He thought soberly. _Are you watching over us now, drifting past, like dust on a breath of air?_

The Garred. Surely, after her most recent miracle, she could be counted an ally, and not a foe? Hard to tell; it was too soon. The machinations of her mind were, as yet, unfathomable. She’d sent the King to Camelot when he came searching for Emrys, which, at the time had seemed like an offer of help. Yet now he rotted in the jail he used to preside over. This affair with the boy…was it a hidden ruse to lay them even lower?

“How is he?” Iseldir called behind him to his brother.

Elisedd blinked. He’d only just walked under the pavilion, and Iseldir was yet to turn his head. “Who? The stable-boy? He is well, as far as we know. His brief absence went relatively unnoticed, and he believes he will be able to sneak away again soon.”

The elder Druid nodded. All seemed fine so far.

“Erm…” murmured Elisedd. “There’s someone here who wants to speak to you. He doesn’t have magic.”

Turning sharply, or as sharply as Iseldir ever did turn, he studied Elisedd’s features inscrutably. “Take me to him.”

The person Elisedd had spoken of was a tall, lean man, scarred of features and with a thatch-roof mop of messy blonde hair atop his head. He stood at the edge of camp in a long brown coat, surveying its daily business with an air of easy, quiet confidence, hands on his hips and one foot on the log that marked the outskirts of their temporary place of rest. There was an almost imperceptible smile on his lips, but his eyes were filled with sadness, as if this look of cynical hilarity was merely a default expression from a time long past. A man of few words, but words well chosen. At their approach, he straightened and assumed a more formal position.

Iseldir bowed. “You wished to speak with me, friend?”

“Yes, I did.” gravelled the man. “You won’t remember, but we have done business in the past.”

Iseldir cast his mind back. The face did seem rather familiar. “A trader. You must forgive me, I don’t recall your name.”

The man smiled easily. “I’m sure you don’t. My trade was not always, shall we say, of a legitimate nature.”

“You have come to barter with us?”

“Oh, no.” The man’s eyes flickered down as a look of immeasurable melancholy passed across his features. “I haven’t been engaged in business such as that for years now.”

“Then, if I may, what is it that you seek of the Druids?”

The man paused and cast his gaze over the treetops to the spires of Camelot in the hillside in the distance. “You must be pleased with the regime change. Druids have not settled so close to Camelot in many a year.”

“Queen Morgana has legalised magic.” replied Elisedd, carefully.

“Indeed. Or at least, legalised it for those who are still loyal to her cause.”

Iseldir studied the man carefully. “You must be pleased too. Many goods that were illegal in King Arthur’s reign are legal now. Does that not make your job easier?”

“As I said, I am no longer in that line of work.” He looked back at Iseldir with a wry gaze. “Word is, you are no longer loyal to Morgana’s cause.”

They stared at each other for a long time, whilst Elisedd ogled them both, a look of horror plastered to his face. “Who told you this?” Iseldir asked urgently.

“A young girl, dark of hair and bright of eye. She said you’d understand.”

_The Garred_. Iseldir felt a rush of hope, but reserved his judgement of the situation until after he had got to know this man’s intentions.

“I think you’d better come to my tent.” The Druid stepped aside and gestured.

Yet, when the man tried to step across the boundary Iseldir’s hand shot out, preventing him from coming in. “Leave the weapon out here please. I will not allow violence to be brought to my people.”

The man’s hand unintentionally slipped to the hilt of the sword concealed beneath his coat. “It’s just for protection. I have no intention of starting anything here.”

Iseldir didn’t move.

His lip’s thinned, and he pulled out the sword with a glare. “Fine.” He plunged it into the ground on the outer side of the log, and they continued into the camp in silence.

The man seemed a lot more nervous without his sword, and by the time they reached Iseldir’s tent, which was relatively bare, he was flexing his fingers restlessly.

“Before we start,” said the man urgently, as Iseldir turned to him from across the tent. “I need to know. Is it true what they say about Merlin, Arthur’s friend?”

Iseldir looked, in genuine surprise, from the deeply urgent face of the man to the shocked face of Elisedd, who had taken up a position by the tent flap behind the man.

“You are on first name terms with the King and his manservant?” Elisedd queried.

The man looked over his shoulder at the younger Druid, and seemed to come to a decision. “When I first met Arthur, he wasn’t a king. And Merlin certainly wasn’t just his servant. So tell me now, is it true? Does Merlin have magic?”

The two Druids exchanged a glance. “Yes, he does. We have been doing our best to help him protect Arthur for some time now.”

The man blew the air from his mouth in a rush and ran a hand through his hair, before reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out a hip flask. “Do you mind?”

Iseldir inclined his head, and the man swigged a mouthful of the drink down. When he’d drunk his fill, he tucked it back into his pocket, and began to pace slowly back and forth across the width of the tent, rubbing his neck. “I could see he was different to other servants but…I mean, this was Arthur Pendragon, why would he…I never thought…” Something else struck him, and he turned sharply to the Druid chief. “Does Arthur know?”

“Our sources would suggest that yes, the King does know. The Lady Morgana told him.”

The man didn’t move. “Has Arthur tried to kill him?”

“Not as far as we know. Morgana has been keeping them apart.”

“Good.” The man nodded.

“You think Arthur has turned against Merlin?” Iseldir asked, curious.

The man stared at him in surprise.  “He’s a Pendragon. You think he hasn’t?”

Iseldir looked towards Elisedd. To his dismay, he found echoed there the same doubt that was in this man’s eyes. “I think that Arthur is different from his father. He has changed much.”

“Magic killed both of his parents, and has driven his sister insane.”

“It has also been his closest friend these past ten years. Emrys has protected and guided him, since the day they met.”

The man stared at him, before giving a single huffed laugh. “So the boy is Emrys now, is he? And Arthur the Once and Future King?” Iseldir tried not to be insulted by the sceptical look on the man’s face. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It explains a lot.” He stood there, eying the floor and pondering a moment before he looked up at Iseldir once more. “I wish to help you retake Camelot.”

Elisedd smiled, and threw him an excited glance, but Iseldir kept his face impassive. The Garred had sent this man, he was sure of it, but they were still yet to know if the Garred could be trusted, and the ex-smuggler clearly had doubts about Arthur’s leadership. How could he know what truly lay in this man’s heart?

“First, I wish to know something,” stated Iseldir carefully. “Why?  What are your reasons for joining our cause?”

As it had before, an expression of anguish crossed his visage and was gone, replaced by the mask he had constructed for himself. “Me and my wife, we fought beside him last time Morgana took over Camelot. Arthur and Merlin protected her, took care of her when she was injured.” He closed his eyes, as if to brace himself. “She died. In the attack. Arthur tried to offer me a knighthood, and I left. I was…” He gave a frustrated wave of his hand. “…angry at them. She wouldn’t have been there if not for them. A little while later, the taxes on goods being brought in and out of Camelot were lowered. It was Arthur’s message to me, his apology, his thank you.”

There was a pause.

“You gave up smuggling?” Elisedd asked softly

The man nodded. “We were partners, my wife and I. I couldn’t do it alone. When news reached me a few days ago about Camelot, it reminded me _why_ we chose to fight. Arthur was a good man, trying to do right by his subjects, and she died fighting for him. I couldn’t let that go to waste.” The end of his speech was marked with a defiant stare.

Iseldir contemplated a moment longer before nodding. The man had spoken well, and spoken from the heart. And they could hardly do without the help. “What is your name, friend, if you will join our cause?”

“Tristan.” said the man with a grin, reaching out to take his hand.

Iseldir grasped Tristan’s hand in both his own, smiling back at the smuggler in an attempt to hide the reticence in his eyes. _If only the Garred would show which side she has chosen in some more definitive way. She gives us cryptic directions and collaborators of dubious loyalty as signs of her allegiance. If we are to take Camelot, we need people who are loyal without reserve, we need–_

“Iseldir?” a woman poked her head through the flap of the tent, interrupting his train of thought. “There’s some people who’ve just arrived asking after you.”

“What, more of them?” Elisedd blurted incredulously. He looked over at Iseldir and Tristan, frozen in the act of their alliance.

The woman nodded. “There’s a young man, calls himself Gilli. Then a woman turned up after him. Her name was…Oh, Hunith, I think it was?”

“Hunith?” interjected Tristan. He turned to face Iseldir once more, their hands still joined between them. “That’s Merlin’s mother. She hid us from Morgana’s soldiers last time.”

The woman continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I tried to send them away, I did, but then they started talking about our plans for Camelot, said some girl had sent them here…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for leaving it there. 
> 
> Please review, kudos or bookmark, and remember not to expect an update too soon. Be seeing you!


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